Legends  of  Louisiana 


life  Romance  §f 
the    Royal   Oak 


Brother  if  the  Sultan 


HELEN  PITKIN  SCHERTZ 


Published  br 
The  New  Orleans  Journal 
New  Orleans,  La.,  U.  S.  A. 


Copywright,  1922 

T» 
New  Orleans  Journal 


Acknowledgments  are  made  in  the  recital  of  this  "Romance 
of  the  Royal  Oak"  to  Heinrich  Zschokke  for  his  'The  Princess  of 
Brunswick- Wolfenbiittel;"  "Too  Strange  Not  To  Be  True,"  by 
Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton;  M.  Bossu,  for  his  "Nouveaux  Voyages 
dans  L'Amerique  Septentrionale;"  "My  Beloved  South,"  by  Mrs. 
T.  P.  O'Connor:  "Peter  the  Great,"  (Makers  of  History),  by 
Jacob  Abbott ;  History  of  Louisiana,  (Vol.  1 ) ,  Charles  Gayarre ; 
Papers  of  Duclos,  and  traditional  sources. 


203612*7 


Romance  gf  the  Royal  Oak 

A*         4*         <*#         4*         4* 


i. 

choicest  of  the  legends  of  Louisiana  is  that  concerning 
Charlotte,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  and  your 
concurrence  in  this  opinion  is  awaited  when  you  will  have 
unfolded  its  sentimental  episodes. 
One  must  regress  into  an  earlier,  more  romantic,  epoch  to  credit 
this  love-story,  for  today  few  are  given  the  understanding  of  the 
sacred  arts,  and  rare  indeed  are  the  souls  willing  to  suffer  immo- 
lation and  the  purification  by  that  white  fire  which  prepares  one 
fitly  to  receive  true  passion.  Our  hearts  are  set  to  the  horologe  of 
haste — a  tempo  which  Love  flies  in  dismay.  This  is  a  century  of 
tempest  and  defence  and  the  recoil  of  the  buffeted  is  to  frivolity 
and  a  desperate  carelessness  rather  than  the  repose  of  awesome 
Love.  Our  contacts  are  electrical  rather  than  magnetic.  Our 
touch  is  a  grasp  rather  than  the  medium  of  a  thrill.  Therefore  Love 
languishes  and  it  may  be  will  cease  altogether.  Instinct  is  not  Love, 
so  the  world  will  go  on  and  there  will  be  posterity  which  will  throb 
to  cold  ambition.  Come  to  the  hearth,  then,  and  let  us  rake  the  em- 
bers, for  this  thought  is  chilling.  Presently  we  will  be  warmed  by 
another  fire,  out  of  the  cycles  where  dead  Romance  wakens  at  our 
call  as  if  we  might  control  the  clarion  of  Domesday  itself! 

New  Orleans  children — rather  let  us  be  explicit,  Creole 
children — have  been  told  for  just  a  shaving  off  two  hundred  years, 
the  tale  of  the  live-oak  on  Bayou  St.  John,  that  slumbrous  estuary 
whose  ancient  source  was  the  overflow  of  the  Mississippi.  It  is  in 
indign  company,  amid  the  refuse  of  timber-remnants  which  may  not 
even  be  used  for  patching  in  a  shabby  little  ship-yard  where  keels 
of  small  craft  are  scraped  of  barnacles  and  decks  renewed.  It  is 


vibrated  throughout  the  day  by  the  tick-tack  of  hammers  and  at 
night  when  all  is  quiet,  by  the  occasional  appulse  of  a  street-car  as  it 
attacks  the  Esplanade  bridge. 

Storms  and  ages  have  had  their  way  with  the  brittle  tree  which 
once  ramified  umbrageous  branches  into  the  semi-tropic  air,  and 
hardened  its  anchors  into  the  Bayou  bank.  The  quiet  waters  have 
trespassed  upon  it  and  logged  the  roots;  hurricanes  have  broken  its 
limbs,  discouraging  to  its  spent  spirit.  Today  there  is  only  a  massive 
bole  and  spurts  of  green  above,  in  proof  of  everlasting  constancy  to  a 
memory.  The  Creole  children  have  fairly  forgotten  the  story  told 
by  the  withered  lips  of  their  brown  nurses.  "Once  a  beautiful  Rus- 
sian princess  crossed  the  seas  to  meet  her  lover  under  this  tree" — and 
for  deponent;  "Ah,  but,  yes,  it  is  true,  because  Tante  Aspasie 
told  me."  It  is  a  triumph  for  the  moribund  Love  in  this  world  that  a 
great  passion  should  be  the  salient  of  an  history  preterit  but  not 
wholly  obsolete.  Should  you  desire  verification,  seek  in  these  pages, 
from  the  first  revelation  to  the  writer  to  the  authorities  to  whom  she 
owes  much.  The  Chevalier  d'Arensbourg,  a  Swedish  veteran  of 
the  Battle  of  Pultowa  under  Charles  XII,  came  to  Louisiana  in 
command  of  many  German  colonists  who  settled  the  land  still  call- 
ed the  Cote  des  Allemands ;  he  was  not  unfamiliar  with  Courts  and 
he  had  a  gallant  eye  for  nice  discernments.  He  is  on  record  as 
suspecting  a  fair  lady  who  spoke  German  fluently  as  well  as 
French,  and  who  had  come  almost  at  the  beginning  of  the  coloni- 
zation of  New  Orleans,  to  be  of  royal  birth,  a  belief  which  as- 
sociation strengthened  despite  her  insulation  from  the  city's  move- 
ments and  absolute  service  to  the  lowly. 

On  a  day  I  haunted  the  tombs  in  one  of  the  old  St.  Louis 
cemeteries  where  lie  the  doughty  youth  of  France  and  Spain  who 
bore  pioneer  hardships  to  the  glory  of  Louis  Quatorze  of  France. 
Amid  the  cenotaphs  a  marble  slab  close  to  the  ground  of  a  wall- 
vault  challenged  the  sight  because  of  the  alien  tongue  which  marked 
the  passing  of  some  forgotten  soul.  "//ier  ruht  in  Frieden"  were 
the  words  deciphered  in  a  maze  of  rambling  coco-grass  where  "Ici 
Repose"  and  "Ci-Git"  were  usual.  I  dropped  to  my  knees  and 
tore  out  the  wild  grass  which  had  reached  into  the  interstices  of  the 
little  tomb.  The  discolored  marble  was  the  corner-stone  upon 
which  the  remainder  of  this  story  is  constructed.  And  not  to  fatigue 

10 


you  with  the  methods  of  research  involved,  we  will  go  hence  to  the 
duchy  of  Brunswick,  the  quiet  theatre  set  for  great  and  romantic 
action  with  history  and  legend  clinkered  evenly,  and  show  by  what 
miraculous  manner  our  tale  returns  to  Louisiana. 

Lewis  Rodolphus,  Duke  of  Brunswick- Wolfenbiittel  married 
Christina  Louisa,  Princess  of  Ottingen  who  bore  him  a  trinity  of  fair 
daughters;  Elizabeth  Wilhelmina  who  became  the  wife  of  Charles 
the  Sixth,  Emperor  of  Germany,  whose  girlhood  buoyancy  froze  into 
habits  of  precision  and  etiquette:  Antonella  Amelia,  who  became 
the  wife  of  Ferdinand  Albert,  Duke  of  Brunswick-Bevern  who 
must  have  accepted  her  portion  blottesquely  as  little  is  reported  of 
her  by  which  token  we  may  deduce  that,  being  without  record,  she 
was  the  happiest  of  wives!  So  have  the  philosophers  long  recon- 
ciled women  to  their  workaday  oblivion  in  service. 

But  the  third  daughter  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Brunswick 
was  too  vivid  to  be  born  and  forgotten ;  one  so  fair  as  she  must  pay 
her  toll  to  pain  and  exact  great  love  from  the  heart  of  man. 

Whatever  despotism  the  Duke  may  have  shown  toward  his 
liegemen  he  was  subject  absolute  to  his  daughter  Charlotte.  She 
was  suzerain  in  his  delight,  he  sealed  to  her  thrall  by  a  lien  of  sym- 
pathy and  pride.  She  had  reached  the  stature  of  a  man  and  her  train- 
ing and  natural  grace  gave  her  the  bearing  one  dreams  of  as  for 
queens.  She  enjoyed  homely  tasks  with  her  hands  and  was  permitted 
them  by  her  sensible  parents  for  the  traditions  of  her  House  were  not 
opposed  to  such  employment  for  its  princesses.  She  rode  daily  in  her 
father's  company  and  glowed  with  the  tints  of  health.  The  Duke 
gloried  in  her  tiara  of  gold  filaments  braided  and  curled  above  a 
faultless  brow.  Her  whiteness  was  lunar  and  there  was  that  evan- 
escent quality  in  her  expression  which  is  seen  now  and  then  in  the 
face  of  a  sincere  genius — the  eyes  set  under  straight  brown  brows 
were  at  times  haunted  by  prescience  of  great  events  and  again  were 
calm  blue  pools  inviting  repose  in  their  reedy  borders.  Often  there 
was  the  languor  of  reverie  in  those  eyes'  depths  for  Charlotte,  being 
woman-grown,  yearned  for  her  lover,  aspiring  to  no  lower  mission 
than  wife-hood,  preparing  herself  for  the  advent  of  her  mate.  Her 
heart  was  clean-swept  daily,  her  confessor  being  her  conscience  and 
she!  lived  as  uneventfully  as  one  may  at  a  Court,  her  own  dignity 
and  innocence,  her  father's  jealous  pride,  her  mother's  anxious  so- 


licitude,  furnishing  redoubt  to  her  serenity.  She  magnetized  at  ap- 
proach, not  alone  through  the  allures  of  featural  beauty  but  through 
a  sympathy  and  sweetness  that  combined  into  the  very  spirit  of  ma- 
ternity. As  a  very  young  girl  she  manifested  this  charm  so  that  men 
turned  aside  fearful  of  betraying  their  emotion  towards  her  and  in 
their  souls  paid  her  tribute  as  to  an  angel.  Charlotte  Christina 
Sophia  relished  the  health  of  a  Diane  de  Poitiers  and  went  far 
beyond  court  observances  in  the  exercise  of  her  outdoor  tastes.  In 
the  evening  she  sang  charmingly  for  her  parents  and  friends  or  play- 
ed the  harp,  or  both  at  once,  when  the  Duke  her  father  would  fill 
his  pride  with  her  perfection  and  ofttimes  catch  the  sob  in  his  throat 
lest  God  see  her  readiness  for  translation  and  thus  bereave  him. 
Everyone  in  the  little  duchy  adored  her  for  she  made  no  distinctions, 
speaking  to  the  lowliest  of  her  father's  subjects,  visiting  them  in 
their  sorrows  and  unconsciously  riveting  their  loyalty  to  the  reigning 
House. 

It  was  late  afternoon  and  the  royal  family  lingered  on  the 
marble  portico  of  the  palace,  enjoying  the  play  of  light  upon  the 
park  below.  The  Duke  was  the  only  member  of  the  intimate  house- 
hold who  was  absent  but  Christina  Louisa  sat  at  her  embroidery 
frame  by  way  of  pretense,  in  earnest  espying  upon  the  occasional 
off-guard  admiration  of  the  stranger.  For  Charlotte,  source  of 
parental  joy  and  concern,  was  posing  against  a  marble  column  in 
her  riding-dress  rather  too  frankly  gazing  at  the  handsome  artist 
who  was  essaying  to  limn  her  loveliness.  The  artist  was  in  military 
accoutrements  but  his  hand  was  as  sure  as  if  brush  and  palette  were 
sword  and  shield. 

The  Chevalier  Henri  d'Aubant,  a  native  of  Brittany,  a  free- 
lance of  fortune  and  a  dweller  in  many  lands,  had  for  several  days 
asked  the  hospitality  of  the  duchy,  as  military  attache  to  the  French 
Embassy  at  Vienna.  Tall,  imperial  in  bearing,  constructed  with 
the  resilience  of  an  athlete  of  divers  endeavors,  d'Aubant  was 
twenty-nine  years  of  age  when  he  appeared  at  the  Palace  of  Wolf- 
enbiittel.  One  had  only  to  glance  at  him  to  see  revealed  his  pas- 
sionate temperament  and  his  courage,  combined  with  a  restlessness 
for  action.  The  instinct  of  the  mother  was  startled  by  these  at- 
tributes, nor  was  her  uneasiness  abated  by  the  form  and  noble 

12 


features  of  her  guest.  Her  gaze  moved  over  the  rim  of  her  frame 
and  rose  upward  to  Charlotte  who  was  at  that  moment  blushing 
at  the  contact  of  the  Chevalier's  amorous  appraisal.  The  mother 
coughed.  Charlotte  moved  quickly  to  her  side,  breaking  the  pose 
and  the  artist's  dangerous  revelation.  "Is  the  dear  mother  chill?" 
asked  the  girl  solicitously. 

"Ah,  fortunately  your  father  comes,"  answered  the  Duchess 
who  was  a  frank  soul  and  dreaded  the  acting  of  a  lie.  The 
Chevalier  was  a  responsibility  which  she  could  not  share  alone  and 
she  was  not  worldly  enough  despite  her  Court  training,  to  cope  with 
entanglements  so  closely  affecting  her  heart.  D'Aubant  as  a 
State  guest  in  the  Ambassadorial  service  was  in  passage  from  Italy 
on  a  secret  mission;  he  must  be  accorded  every  honor — save  the 
too-stimulating  companionship  of  Charlotte.  All  rose  as  the 
Duke  entered.  He  paused,  glancing  not  even  at  his  youngest-born 
who  was  ever  his  eyes'  oasis.  The  Duchess  moved  toward  him  with 
heedfulness,  knowing  there  was  unpleasantness  in  the  air. 

"Alexis  of  Russia  is  here,"  he  announced  shortly.  "It  is  a 
shock.  He  has  been  sent  on  this  journey  to  elevate  his  thoughts 
above  his  crimes.  I  would  that  he  had  detoured  Brunswick  in  his 
wanderings."  Omens  flew  through  his  brain  like  evil  bats  and  con- 
templation of  his  fairest  daughter  only  heightened  his  anxiety. 
D'Aubant  acknowledged  the  growing  chill  and  throwing  a  protect- 
ing glance  upon  the  young  woman,  shuddered  off  his  new  dread. 

"You  knew  nothing   of  his  coming?"   asked  the   Duchess. 

"Unannounced,  he  has  simply  appeared  a  few  leagues  from 
Brunswick.  It  is  his  way,  I  am  told.  What  may  one  expect  of 
him?  He  is  of  evil  repute,  cruel  and  stupid.  Peter"  has  little  faith 
in  the  reform  of  his  heir-apparent  who  is  but  twenty  though  a  wizard 
in  sinful  arts.  I  would  that  he  had  continued  his  journey  without 
neighborly  courtesies,"  sighed  the  Duke. 

Fatefully  a  new  day  dawned,  bringing  the  most  evil  of  men 
with  his  iniquitous  adherents,  to  the  Court  of  Brunswick.  The  day, 
May  16th,  was  designed  for  a  celebration  of  Charlotte's  sixteenth 
anniversary  and  flags  fluttered  gayly  on  all  public  buildings  and 
flowers  garlanded  many  windows.  The  girl  rose  with  the  joy  of 

13 


her  health  and  the  certainty  of  a  good  man's  love  making  resurgam 
in  her  heart,  forgetful  of  the  impending  visit.  Indeed,  she  was 
beyond  the  city  on  her  fleet  horse  before  the  remembrance  of  Alexis 
was  brought  to  her  in  a  moment  not  covered  by  the  sharp  eyes  of  her 
lady-in-waiting.  D'Aubant  rode  close  with  a  branch  of  blossoms 
he  had  culled  in  galloping  after  her — for  Charlotte  covered  space 
quickly  and  used  only  mettled  mounts.  "There  will  be  no  more  sit- 
tings for  a  few  days,  I  fear/'  said  the  Chevalier  gravely.  "This 
visit  is  impeding — is  it  understood  how  long  the  Czarewitz  is  to 
remain  in  Brunswick?"  Charlotte  was  happy  and  happier  for 
his  approach.  "He  is  only  en  passage,  is  he  not?  Why  is  every- 
one so  serious  about  it?  We  will  give  him  enough  food  to  appease 
him  so  that  he  will  not  eat  us  up.  One  has  heard  of  his  father's 
mighty  appetite,  perhaps  the  son's  is  as  insatiable.  Father  was  told 
that  a  breakfast  and  dinner  served  the  Czar  and  his  staff  of  twenty 
at  Godalming  on  his  return  from  a  visit  to  Portsmouth,  sacrificed 
an  entire  lamb,  one  and  a  half  sheep,  twelve  chickens,  ten  capons, 
seven  dozens  of  eggs,  a  mighty  salad,  five  ribs  of  beef,  a  shoulder 
and  loin  of  veal,  eight  pullets,  eight  rabbits,  three  quarts  of  brandy, 
two  dozen  and  a  half  of  sack,  six  quarts  of  mulled  wine  and  a  dozen 
claret.  We  teach  our  children  in  Brunswick  to  avoid  the  cardinal 
sin  of  gluttony  in  relating  these  items,  which  disgust  our  conservative 
people.  No  other  blacksmith  would  so  incontinently  indulge  him- 
self," laughed  the  happy  girl. 

"No   other   blacksmith?"    inquired    D'Aubant   apprehensive   of 
laxity  to  majesty  which  was  inborn  in  his  royalist  soul. 

"But  yes,"  answered  Charlotte.  "It  was  in  the  forges  of 
Miiller  at  Istria  that  Peter  employed  himself  in  learning  the  black- 
Smith's  trade,  succeeding  so  well  that  he  once  forged  eighteen 
pounds  of  iron,  putting  his  own  mark  on  each  bar.  Let  us  see  if  we 
cannot  convince  Alexis  to  enter  a  smithy  to  wear  out  his  uncontroll- 
ed energies.  He  is  ungainly,  I  hear,  so  he  should  have  no  place  in 
Court  or  boudoir  with  his  Muscovite  manners!"  The  Chevalier 
dared  remain  no  longer  at  the  girl's  side,  so  he  fell  behind  and  filled 
his  eyes  and  heart  freely  with  the  grace  of  her  torso  and  the  dignity 
with  which  she  sat  her  mount.  He  was  disturbed  and  wretched  yet 
the  love  in  his  soul  was  as  the  hope  which  gives  reason  for  living. 

14 


Early  as  was  the  hour  of  the  return  of  Charlotte's  cavalcade, 
the  palace  was  astir  with  new  life,  for  Alexis,  heir-apparent  to  the 
throne  of  Russia  was  already  paying  his  State  visit  and  accepting 
the  initial  hospitalities  of  the  duchy.  A  casual  visitor  would  presume 
the  Duke  of  Brunswick  to  be  the  guest  and  Alexis  the  host,  for  the 
Russians  had  overrun  the  palace  and  were  commanding  and  taking 
possession  of  the  rooms  as  if  they  were  veritably  their  own.  Alexis 
stood  upon  the  marble  portico  as  Charlotte  dismounted  and  he 
sprang  like  a  leopard  to  her  assistance.  She  leaped  clear  of  her 
pommel  and  stood  gazing  at  him  resentfully,  not  knowing  him  but 
repelled  by  that  prescience  which  colors  the  progress  of  destiny. 
D'Aubant  who  had  been  ready  at  hand,  held  the  girl  and  Alexis 
intermittently  in  his  eye  and  saw  Charlotte  suddenly  grow  from  a 
happy  girl  into  a  sad  woman  in  that  instant.  She  stiffened  and 
overlooked  the  proffered  hand  as  if  she  already  knew  portent  of  its 
meaning.  She  was  wearing,  as  usual,  the  uniform  of  the  Black 
Hussars  with  the  emblem  of  the  bones  and  skull  on  her  chacot  but 
not  before  had  d'Aubant  chilled  at  these  meanings.  Her  color  was 
high  from  exercise,  and  her  eyes  glittered  with  the  repulsion  she 
felt  for  the  man  before  her.  She  passed  him  and  went  to  her  father 
standing  above,  witness  of  the  heavy  moment. 

Alexis  grunted  and  followed.  "Is  this  your  daughter?"  he 
asked,  as  if  he  had  been  addressing  a  swineherd. 

"Your  Highness,  this  is  Charlotte",  muttered  the  Duke,  whose 
dignity  had  been  offended  and  from  whom  the  trappings  of  royalty 
seemed  to  have  fallen.  He  felt  vanquished  and  old  in  this  bold 
young  presence. 

"I  will  marry  her,"  announced  the  heir-apparent  curtly. 

The  Duke  gripped  Charlotte's  hand  tensely.  "You  do  us 
much  honor,  Your  Highness,"  he  replied,  "but  we  have  other  plans 

for  our  daughter.     We we have  designed  her  for  the 

Church,  which  your  majesty  will  admit  has  rights  pre-eminent  over 
your  Highness'  desires.  However,  we  are  most  honored,  and  wish 
it  might  be  otherwise." 

Alexis  shrugged  and  smiled  as  if  he  did  not  quite  understand 
and  turned,  leading  the  way  to  the  banquet-room  where  he  scented 

15 


rich  foods  prepared  in  honor  of  the  birthday  feast.  He  applied  him- 
self to  the  repast,  the  paling  Charlotte  having  been  placed  almost 
beyond  the  sound  of  his  raucous  voice.  Alexis  ate  heartily  and 
drank  deeply,  commending  the  viands  that  were  especially  to  his 
taste  and  berating  the  cook  for  daring  to  concoct  certain  others 
which  were  not  to  his  liking.  Now  and  then  a  lascivious  gaze  went 
over  the  high-massed  platters  to  the  present  object  of  his  desire. 
Then  he  would  grunt  and  mutter  and  attack  a  fresh  goblet  of 
brandy. 

Charlotte  remained  in  her  own  rooms  in  the  afternoon,  the  sit- 
ting she  had  promised  D'Aubant  cancelled  by  silence.  He  would 
not  have  had  it  otherwise,  but  would  from  choice  have  been  the 
warden  of  her  gaol,  never  to  see  her  if  the  step  of  impious  interlopers 
might  be  stayed.  There  was  planned  a  ball  for  the  night,  after  the 
dinner,  and  for  this  she  must  prepare  herself  less  in  glowing  raiment 
than  in  panoply  of  coldness  and  a  disaffection  for  all  worldliness,  to 
stay  the  onslaught  of  Alexis.  It  was  with  a  dull  interest  and  a 
growing  fear  that  the  girl  put  herself  under  the  ministrations  of  her 
attendants,  and  rather  was  she  displeased  at  the  result,  for  her 
mirror  proclaimed  her  comeliness  and  gave  the  lie  to  her  renuncia- 
tion of  the  pomps  of  State. 

Alexis  advanced  to  meet  the  wonderful  young  creature  when 
she  entered  the  ball-room.  His  manners  had  moderated  somewhat, 
and  he  made  tenders  of  grace  which  sat  on  him  as  illy  as  his  boor- 
ishness.  Charlotte  could  not  disguise  her  repugnance  to  his  touch 
and  danced  with  him  only  when  under  the  insistent  eye  of  her  father. 
With  D'Aubant  she  waltzed  many  times,  and  in  his  respectful 
embrace  she  was  almost  happy  again,  though  her  breeding  had 
taught  her  not  to  betray  her  real  emotions  toward  any  man. 

Beneath  her  window  on  the  following  morning  messengers 
galloped  out  of  the  palace  grounds  with  the  clang  of  hoofs  and  at  a 
speed  unknown  to  any  rider  in  peaceful  Brunswick.  Charlotte 
had  not  meant  to  descend  until  the  departure  of  the  hated  visitor  but 
her  father's  summons  urged  her  to  ever-ready  obedience.  She 
found  Alexis  and  the  Duke  together  in  the  library,  both  with  the 
excited  manner  of  those  who  have  argued  long  on  matters  of  im- 
port. Looking  from  one  to  the  other,  their  conversation  was  re- 

16 


vealed  to  her  and  she  would  have  retreated  if  her  father  had  not 
lifted  his  hand  in  warning. 

"His  Highness  has  repeated  his  honorable  offer  for  your 
hand,"  quoth  the  Duke,  "and  it  will  be  well  for  us  to  take  it  under 
immediate  advisement.  Your  mother  will  be  here  presently." 

Charlotte  stood  tall  and  golden  before  the  men  who  were  thus 
volleying  her  fate  between  them.  Then  she  steadied  her  voice. 

"Have  I  been  your  dutiful  daughter  ever?"  she  asked  the 
Duke. 

"My  daughter  has  been  docile  and  obedient  since  her  birth," 
he  answered  with  emotion. 

"Then  my  father  the  Duke  must  record  my  first  revolt,"  she 
said. 

"For  the  sake  of  your  country " 

"My  country  loves  me  and  makes  no  such  demand,"  inter- 
rupted the  girl. 

"Then  for  my  sake,  Charlottechen." 

"It  is  for  your  good  that  I  should  bring  grief  to  your  heart  and 
tears  to  scorch  your  eyes?  Is  it  filial  to  bow  your  shoulders  with 
my  woes  and  to  submit  to  a  separation  that  can  mean  no  good  to 
the  duchy  or  to  our  family?  I  refuse  to  marry  this  man." 

Charlotte  moved  to  the  door  but  had  taken  only  a  few  steps 
when  she  turned  at  the  words  of  Alexis. 

"I  have  this  morning,  betimes,  sent  my  emissary  to  His  Im- 
perial Highness,  my  father,  asking  that  he  make  formal  demand 
for  your  hand.  Perhaps,  Princess,  his  answer,  not  yours,  will 
decide  the  outcome." 

This,  then,  was  the  explanation  for  the  riders'  full-gallop 
under  her  window.  She  continued  toward  the  door  and  when  she 
had  reached  it  swung  about  and  flashed  her  contempt  upon  her 
suitor. 

"I  am  my  father's  daughter  and  I  make  plea  only  to  him.  For 
you,  my  assurance  that  I  have  only  scorn  for  a  prince  who  would 
force  his  hated  person  upon  a  woman  when  that  woman  holds  him 
in  disdain.  You  have  my  answer." 

II. 

Alexis  who  knew  that  he  held  the  Duke  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  remained  several  days  at  Brunswick,  stressing  State  motives 

17 


and  resolving  victory  over  the  rare  creature  who  held  herself  aloof 
in  her  own  apartments.  Her  parents  visited  her  several  times  daily 
and  brought  ministers  of  State  who  urged  upon  her  immediate  ac- 
ceptance of  the  haughty  Russian  lest  the  giant  maw  of  his  country 
close  down  on  the  tiny  duchy,  craunch  and  efface  it.  The  tender 
father  did  not  minify  the  miseries  sure  to  overwhelm  his  beloved 
child  through  such  an  alliance,  but  had  the  prevision  to  see  that  in 
the  event  of  acceptance  or  rejection  of  the  Czarewitz'  suit  he  would 
have  no  power  to  stay  the  evils  of  destiny.  His  duchy  would  be 
obliterated  if  he  held  out  against  the  union  and  he  would  be  over- 
whelmed by  the  bitterness  of  reproach  from  his  subjects.  He 
sought  to  divert  Alexis  from  his  fixed  intention  but  finally  saw  no 
path  save  compliance  to  the  scheme  of  the  unrelenting  despot.  The 
only  hope  of  the  Duke's  family  now  remaining  was  the  answer  of 
the  Czar  who  might  have  another  alliance  for  Alexis  under  con- 
sideration. Upon  this  hope  they  fed  until  the  return  of  the  envoy 
who  led  a  delegation  to  make  formal  request  for  the  hand  of  Char- 
lotte. 

D'Aubant  was  too  well-seasoned  a  statesman  not  to  know  the 
inevitableness  of  the  position  in  which  Charlotte  would  be  placed  if 
the  Czar  were  favorable  to  the  union.  But  he  let  no  word  escape 
and  after  his  diplomatic  engagements  of  the  day  lingered  over  his 
portfolio  with  the  numerous  sketches  he  had  made  of  Charlotte  and 
was  at  hand  whenever  the  absence  of  Alexis  and  the  policies  of  the 
Court  made  sittings  possible.  She  seemed  far  removed  from  him 
now,  further  than  in  the  happy  days  so  recently  spent,  when  the 
knowledge  of  his  own  inadequate  rank  had  kept  him  silent  in  his 
own  love.  He  treated  her  even  more  reverentially,  for  to  him  she 
was  dead  forever,  and  he  had  no  further  hope  for  even  occasional 
contacts.  This  reflection  gave  him  a  despair  out  of  which  grew  a 
valiant  design,  put  in  effect  ten  minutes  after  the  formal  demand 
for  Charlotte's  hand. 

He  had  hoped  to  see  Charlotte  once  more  but  scarcely  trust- 
ed himself  to  steady  her,  he  was  so  distraught  with  his  own  grief. 

He  bade  hasty  farewells  to  the  Duke  but  having  no  assurance 
as  to  Charlotte's  feelings  toward  himself,  he  made  no  effort  toward 
a  painful  interview.  He  had  a  plan  which  fired  him  with  its  daring 
and  soldier  of  fortune  that  he  was,  he  sought  to  quell  his  sufferings 
with  activities  that  might  best  serve  his  love.  He  lately  had  enjoyed 

18 


while  in  Switzerland,  en  route  to  Italy,  the  acquaintance  of  General 
Lefort,  confidential  friend  and  adviser  of  the  Czar  of  Muscovy. 
The  General  had  soon  discerned  the  fine  qualities  of  the  Breton 
gentilhomme  and  had  honored  him  with  many  confidences  and 
other  tokens  of  distinction.  Him  would  D'Aubant  seek  now  for 
purposes  of  his  own. 

Time  moves  swiftly  here,  though  painfully.  D'Aubant  found 
General  Lefort  still  kindly  disposed  toward  him  and  brought  about 
without  apparent  effort  on  his  own  behalf,  the  invitation  to  enter  the 
Russian  service  in  command  of  a  regiment  of  artillery.  Perhaps 
again  through  Lefort,  certainly  upon  his  own  merit,  the  Breton  was 
frequently  favorably  noticed  by  the  Czar  who  must  have  wished 
his  own  son  as  effective  in  his  knowledge  of  military  science  and  en- 
gineering and  in  the  command  of  a  regiment.  He  was  soon  pro- 
moted to  a  Colonelcy  and  Imperial  favors  were  showered  upon  him. 

III. 

It  was  at  noon  of  October  25th,  1711  that  Charlotte  Christina 
Sophia,  princess  of  Brunswick- Wolfenbiittel,  after  two  years  of  a 
binding  betrothal  and  at  the  tender  age  of  eighteen  years,  became 
the  wife  of  Alexis  Petrowitz,  Prince  of  Russia,  eldest  son  of  Peter 
the  Great,  at  Torgau,  in  Germany.  There  were  no  rejoicings  or 
madrigals,  no  blushes  or  happy  expectances.  Charlotte,  half- 
fainting,  clung  with  her  remaining  strength  to  her  father's  arms  and 
must  be  rudely  torn  away  by  the  cruel  debauche  upon  whom 
her  pure  hand  was  bestowed.  As  white  as  her  gown  the  poor 
Princess  passed,  almost  unconciously,  from  the  keeping  of  a  tender 
father  to  the  arms  of  a  monster  of  ferocious  temperament  whose 
profligacies  and  immoralities  were  the  scandal  of  Europe.  The  girl 
had  suffered  as  much  as  the  human  heart  may,  and  she  felt  that  her 
apathy  and  stunned  acceptance  of  an  indisputable  demand  were 
prelusive  of  a  welcome  death.  She  submitted  to  the  hysterical  em- 
braces of  her  family,  was  garbed  for  her  hopeless  journey  and 
lifted  into  the  traveling  coach.  Six  powerful  steeds  of  the  Ukraine 
awaited  restlessly  to  speed  the  mock  lovers  over  their  long  journey 
to  the  great  Court  of  St.  Petersburg  and  the  rough  Cossack  escort 
surrounded  the  equipage  to  insure  its  safety.  The  poor  young  bride 
sank  upon  the  cushions  lifeless  and  unseeing.  Alexis  sat  beside  her 

19 


and  gloated  upon  the  perfection  of  beauty  that  was  his  latest  pos- 
session and  noted  that  grief  could  not  scar  features  that  had  been 
molded  for  his  gratification. 

With  alarming  cries  the  half  barbarous  convoy  ranged  about 
the  royal  traveling  carriage,  ululations  of  savage  beasts  issuing  from 
their  clamorous  throats;  kicking  up  thick  dust  that  added  to  the  fa- 
tigue of  the  dangerous  journey.  Peasant  carts  were  over-ridden  by 
plunging  beasts  and  their  owners  cursed.  Straggling  auls  or  villages 
and  nomad  camps  were  depleted  of  their  hoards  of  rum  and  their 
occupants  made  to  yield  their  own  beds  and  food  for  the  dashing 
cortege.  Ravished  from  her  tranquil  palace  and  reasonable  people, 
Charlotte  was  affrighted  at  every  new  spectacle  and  sound,  the 
language  which  she  was  told  was  to  be  her  only  medium  of  ex- 
pression torturing  her  sensitiveness  with  its  harshness.  The  days 
were  unending  and  their  violences  anguished  the  shuddering  bride. 
The  nights  were  horrible  with  the  ghastly  torches  lighting  the  un- 
tamed and  unfatigued  Cossacks  playing  their  tribal  game  of 
"Korshun"  with  its  reports  of  snapping  whips  and  their  indulgence 
at  mess  of  vodka  and  soaked  hardtack  and  tallow.  Their  drunken 
songs  were  terrifying  afterwards,  sung  deep  within  their  bushy 
beards  accompanied  by  the  beat  of  their  primitive  guitar,  the  bal- 
alaika. Beggars  swarmed  for  kopeks  and  met  with  the  lash.  The 
csirousings  of  this  cohort  of  wild  brethren  of  the  Steppes  could  not 
be  impeded  by  sympathy.  Alexis,  as  the  future  ruler  of  millions  of 
souls,  believed  he  was  acting  with  policy  in  encouraging  the 
orgies  which,  besides,  amused  him. 

Among  the  wild  escort  there  was  one  Cossack  who  rode  like 
mad,  sitting  his  superb  Orlaf  like  a  centaur,  always  in  the  lead 
of  the  others  yet  compassing  the  space  occupied  by  the  length  of 
the  irregular  procession,  back  and  forth,  several  times  an  hour  that 
all  might  be  decent  and  suitable1  in  the  nuptial  escort.  He  wore  a 
shaggy  Tartar  bur^a  drawn  closely  up  to  his  ears,  and  his  towering 
bearskin  shako  pulled  far  down  that  only  his  eyes  were  disclosed — 
the  eyes  that  foresaw  all  dangers  of  the  road  to  his  precious  charge. 
Occasionally  he  would  ride  up  to  the  troika  door  and  make 
survey  and  whenever  he  did  so  Charlotte  would  arouse,  lean  for- 
ward and  touch  his  cloak.  At  relay-stations  and  post-houses  this 
Cossack's  hand  was  alert  for  hers,  to  help  her  in  descent ;  and  once, 
when  she  slipped  upon  the  step  from  sheer  feebleness,  he  held  her 

20 


for  a  precious  instant  in  his  arms!  Almost  Charlotte  smiled,  but 
her  miseries  crowded  down  upon  her  again  and  showed  her  the 
fallacy  of  even  one  moment  of  a  bliss  that  led  nowhere. 

Before  entering  St.  Petersburg  the  chimes  of  an  hundred 
steeples  reached  the  journeyers  like  mellifluous  locusts  with  un- 
ceasing throats.  As  they  neared  the  heart  of  the  great  city  the  bells 
came  clearer  and  more  joyously,  mingling  with  the  choruses  of  the 
school-children  carolling  the  beauty  of  a  bride  who  witnessed  the 
scene  in  constraint  and  sorrow.  The  shoutings  of  a  glad  people 
joined  in  the  ecstasy  of  a  dozen  military  bands,  cannon  thundered 
and  the  holiday  multitudes  shouted  welcome  to  the  lady  of  high 
repute  who  had  dared  risk  her  fate  with  their  errant  Czarowitz. 
Charlotte  made  no  sign,  only  staring  at  the  faithful  Cossack  who 
rode  ahead  to  mark  the  place  of  arrest  for  the  royal  coach.  He 
stood  by  the  door  with  humble  mien  as  Charlotte  descended  and 
passed  him  with  halting  foot,  entering  a  life  whose  horrors  she  had 
not  plumbed  in  her  innocence.  Masquerades,  balls,  illuminations, 
fireworks  and  feasting  filled  day  and  night  but  after  the  fanfare  of 
welcome,  Charlotte  sat  in  her  new  apartment,  for  one  moment  alone. 

That  night  fair  Agatha  von  Dienholm,  one  of  the  most  de- 
voted of  her  women,  left  her  and  sought  Henri  d'Aubant.  She 
bore  a  letter,  the  renunciation  of  her  mistress'  dreams  which  closed 
the  door  upon  hope  and  gave  her  honest  standing  for  the  future. 
Thus  had  she  written:  "D'Aubant;  Your  disguise  did  not  deceive 
one  whom  you  protected  with  such  risk  and  sacrifice.  Neither 
could  its  purpose  deceive  my  heart.  I  am  telling  you  for  the  first 
time  that  I  love  you.  As  I  am  the  wife  of  another  it  is  evident  that 
we  must  never  meet  again.  I  dare  not  trust  myself  too  far  ...  .to 
remain  true  to  duty  with  love  so  near.  May  God  be  pitiful  to  us 
both.  Charlotte." 

D'Aubant,  man  of  vigor  and  prowess  as  he  was,  fell  help- 
lessly into  a  chair  and  re-read  the  letter  before  he  realized  its  inex- 
orable finality. 

IV. 

Without  making  further  attempt  to  see  the  object  of  his  love, 
to  unsteady  her  in  her  courage  or  shame  her  in  her  admission, 
D'Aubant  applied  for  discharge  from  the  Russian  Army,  and 

21 


waited  in  a  tremor  of  indecision,  daily  fearing  it  would  come  and 
with  self-chiding  hastening  its  receipt  through  every  avenue  of  his 
influence.  It  was  six  months  before  he  achieved  it  and  a  complete 
victory  over  himself  for  often  he  was  tempted  to  speak  to  her  on 
the  few  rare  occasions  when  he  returned  to  St.  Petersburg  from  the 
wars  that  were  up-piling  the  valiant  record  of  the  Emperor.  These 
were  days  full  of  danger  and  he  threw  himself  into  the  most  vulner- 
able posts,  firing  the  patriotism  of  the  Russians  themselves  during  the 
bloody  conflicts  at  Aland  when  nearly  the  entire  Swedish  fleet  was 
captured.  The  Frenchman  fought  by  the  side  of  the  Czar  himself, 
who  commanded  the  vanguard  under  Admiral  Aprarin.  The 
Swedish  vice-Admiral  Ehrenschild  opened  the  attack  and  a  thousand 
guns  belched  steel  and  flame  and  destruction  in  the  equal  conflict. 
Throughout  the  engagement  Peter  smoked  coolly  and  made  witty 
sallies  in  the  midst  of  the  thunder  of  ordnance  and  carnival  of  death. 
D'Aubant  challenged  the  sovereign's  outspoken  admiration  by  his 
equal  imperturbability :  one  may  bandy  with,  Death  when  he  is  in- 
different to  the  outcome.  By  nightfall  the  Swedish  fleet  had  been 
brought  into  the  harbor  of  Abo  and  D'Aubant  sat  at  his  Majesty's 
table  partaking  of  his  brandy.  Peter  was  in  dizzy  spirits  and  was 
disposed  to  commend  all  those  who  had  assisted  in  the  victory. 
"Who  would  have  thought,  twenty  years  ago  that  we  Russians 
should  this  day  fight  and  conquer  in  the  Baltic  with  ships  of  our 
own  building!"  Truly  Peter  had  avenged  Narva  when  eight 
thousand  Swedes  had  overcome  an  hundred  thousand  Russians  in 
their  own  intrenchments  and  routed  the  treacherous  chieftain  of  his 
own  Cossacks,  Mazeppa,  and  justified  his  stupendously  increased 
power  at  sea. 

Peter  promoted  d'Aubant  to  a  Colonelcy  for  his  gallantry  and 
the  unhappy  man  seized  this  favorable  moment  to  ask  for  his  dis- 
charge, making  showy  regrets  at  leaving  the  service  but  stating  the 
most  essential  reasons  for  release;  the  death  of  his  father  and  the 
obligation  to  return  to  France  to  husband  the  confused  pecuniary 
affairs  of  his  family.  With  deepest  reconnaissance  his  reasons  were 
heard  and  found  sound  and  gratefully  the  discharge  was  delivered 
into  his  hands  by  Peter  himself. 

D'Aubant,  reluctant  and  unhappy  departed  at  once,  looking 
back  upon  the  spires  of  St.  Petersburg  as  symbols  keen  to  pierce 
the  noble  heart  of  Charlotte. 

22 


He  had  turned  to  Paris  for  the  balm  of  familiar  surroundings 
but  did  not  react  to  its  glories  and  fought  against  encumbering  de- 
pression and  restlessness.  Russia  had  apparently  devoured  his 
great  lady — there  was  no  sign  from  her  and  in  her  bristling  entour- 
age the  daring  Chevalier  had  no  hope  of  a  fresh  token  to  hearten 
him. 

Thus  passed  years.  Then  came  the  epoch  when  the  gallant 
de  Bienville  founded  New  Orleans  under  the  Regency  of  the  Due 
d'Orleans;  and  d'Aubant,  walking  one  day  in  the  allees  of  the 
Luxembourg  revolving  in  his  mind  where  he  should  go  for  action 
and  distracting  adventure,  met  the  enthusiasm  of  one  of  his  power- 
ful friends  who  offered  him  an  appointment  as  captain  in  the 
Colonial  trops  which  were  starting  for  La  Nouvelle  France.  He 
bore  high  recommendations  to  Perier,  the  Colony's  Governor,  and 
without  regret  for  the  past  or  a  stir  of  interest  in  his  new  adventure, 
d'Aubant  sailed  from  France  on  the  "Jean  Bart".  He  was  station- 
ed at  the  barracks  on  the  marge  of  the  new  city  under  the  command 
of  the  gallant  d'Artaguette  and,  fond  of  military  tactics  and  the 
enforcement  of  discipline,  gave  his  days  up  to  the  rigid  performance 
of  duty.  He  permitted  himself  no  relaxation  in  gayeties  and  in- 
dulged in  solitude  and  long  rides  on  a  spirited  animal.  He  had 
ever  been  famed  as  horseman,  hunter  and  fisher  and  for  these  soon 
became  the  admiration  of  the  Indians,  admiration  which  his  ac- 
quirements of  the  Choctaw  language  served  to  heighten.  Later 
d'Aubant  obtained  from  the  John  Law  Company  a  grant  of  land 
on  which  he  builded  a  seemly  habitation,  as  the  settlers'  homes  were 
termed.  He  engaged  Christianized  Indians  and  slaves  to  fructify 
these  lands  and  his  concession  thrived.  Old  Pere  Maret  of  the 
Mission  Saint  Francois,  consecrated  to  the  evangelization  of  the 
Indians,  became  his  closest  friend,  sharing  with  him  the  infrequent 
French  prints  noting  the  new  war  with  Germany;  the  illness  of 
Louis;  the  coronation  of  George  I  or  the  great  conflagration  of 
Brussels  as  these  events  were  transmitted  to  the  Colony.  He  had 
not  been  long  in  the  nascent  town  when  he  found  a  rude  path 
through  primeval  forests  which  offered  singular  charm  and  which 
surprised  him  as  being  solid  and  well-packed  amid  the  marshes. 
He  followed  it  and  issued  upon  a  broad  stream  bordered  with 
oaks  across  which  lay  a  frail  village  of  inhostile  Indians.  He  now 
knew  that  he  had  pursued  the  portage,  later  called  Bayou  Road, 


used  by  the  Red  Man  for  convoying  the  pirogues  between  the  Miss- 
issippi River  and  Lake  Pontchartrain.  The  ground  was  high 
and  d'Aubant  traversed  it  often,  as  offering  shade  and  unusually 
beautiful  wood  scenes,  ever  cool  in  their  moisture.  Gradually  he 
became  friendly  with  the  Indians  of  the  Tchouchouma  tribe 
settled  upon  the  eastern  border  of  the  slow  stream  and  upon 
which  he  built  a  log  hut  at  some  slight  distance  from  their  vil- 
lage. In  return  he  brought  gifts  such  as  were  available  in  the  little 
colony  for  the  women  and  children,  and  received  their  grateful  co- 
operation in  the  construction  of  his  hermitage.  Fragrant  cedar  logs 
were  used  in  the  making,  and  the  roof  was  sturdy  though  com- 
posed only  of  thatched  palmetto-palms.  A  rough  chair  and  table 
and  an  easel  were  all  the  furnishments  of  the  hut,  but  here  grew  the 
portrait  of  Charlotte  for  which  the  multitude  of  sketches  made  of 
her  in  the  distant  duchy  of  Brunswick  furnished  items.  Here  he 
worked  with  the  only  semblance  of  contentment  he  ever  knew  in 
those  difficult  pioneer  days,  when  his  heart  knew  surcease 
for  awhile  of  the  anxieties  it  felt  constantly  for  her  safety  and  her 
health.  When,  after  many  months  the  portrait  was  finished  it  was 
hung  in  its  simple  shrine  of  hand-hewn  cypress  but  it  illuminated  its 
beauty,  making  royal  the  rude  environs.  The  figure  was  full  length 
and  showed  Charlotte  in  her  girlish  beauty,  with  wonderment  in  her 
great  blue  eyes  and  unrealization  curling  her  lips.  She  was  in  white 
and  no  shred  of  ermine  gave  token  of  her  station.  At  her  side  was  a 
crown  of  myriad  points  and  costly  gems,  and  it  rested  not  upon  a 
pillow  but  crushingly  upon  a  human  heart. 

He  came  here  the  lover  as  on  a  holy  pilgrimage  and  spent  all 
the  time  which  he  could  spare  from  his  post  in  her  precious  presence. 
Gradually  he  accumulated  clay  containers  made  by  the  Indians  and 
these  he  filled  with  mimosa  and  magnolia,  wild  jasmine,  ghostly 
lilies  and  crepe-myrtles,  and  daily  renewed  them  at  his  lady's 
feet.  From  the  verger  at  the  Cathedral  he  obtained  a  ruby  veil- 
leuse  or  vigil-light  used  at  altars  and  this  he  set  on  a  block  of  cedar, 
filled  with  perfumed  oil  where  it  cast  reverent  glow  upon  the  great 
lady.  Through  four  years  he  had  not  communicated  with  her  fear- 
ing that  the  most  innocent  message  might  bring  upon  her  suspicion 
or  unrest.  He  lifted  a  spotless,  mammoth  magnolia  blossom  from  its 
bed  of  glistening  leaves  and  noted  their  russet  undertones.  "How 
like  her  in  fairness,"  he  thought  as  he  held  the  blossom  toward  the 

24 


portrait.  A  petal  detached  itself  and  fell  upon  his  hand.  He 
etched  upon  its  purity  "May  16",  the  day  of  her  birth  and  of  their 
last  mutual  happiness,  the  evening  on  which  she  had  danced  with 
him  in  the  far-off  duchy  of  Brunswick,  an  earthly  heaven  in  retro- 
spect. This  date  had  been  also  the  day  of  auguries  and  evil 
portents  for  it  had  brought  the  monster  Alexis  to  wreck  their  lives. 
Knowing  that  she  would  associate  that  day  with  himself  whatever 
her  later  memories,  he  forwarded  this  tribute  from  his  gallant  heart, 
a  kiss  blighting  its  delicate  texture. 

V. 

On  that  evening  when  Charlotte  had  dispatched  the  portentous 
missive  to  d'Aubant,  she  became  violently  hysterical  and  gave  way 
to  her  first  flood  of  tears.  The  strange  ladies-in-waiting  were  alarm- 
ed and  asked  the  Countess  of  Kb'nigsberg,  more  experienced  in  every 
way,  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  distraught  Princess.  The 
Countess  had  been  one  of  the  mistresses  of  Augustus  the  Second, 
King  of  Poland  and  through  this  alliance  had  become  the  mother 
of  the  celebrated  Count  Maurice  Marechal  de  Saxe.  The  Count- 
ess was  the  closest  friend  permitted  Charlotte  and  was  to  be  relied 
upon,  which  is  unusual  in  Courts  where  mouth-honor  fawns  upon 
royal  vanity.  She  was  a  pattern  of  dignity  at  Court  but  cheering 
with  pranks  and  whimsies  in  the  company  of  her  royal  mistress. 
Charlotte  begged  her  to  forget  the  difference  in  their  rank  and 
treated  her  as  an  elder  sister,  which  the  Countess  greatfully  appre- 
ciated but  with  rare  tact  preserved  her  distance  as  one  to  be  courted 
rather  than  sink  into  the  prostration  of  sycophancy.  She  was  a 
stanchion  to  Charlotte  and  as  will  be  proved,  alive  with  expedients 
for  her  salvation.  She  knew  of  the  debaucheries  of  the  Czarewitz 
and  that  he  had  married  Charlotte  because  in  no  other  way  was  she 
obtainable  for  his  present  humor.  It  was  no  surprise  to  her,  there- 
fore, to  note  the  renewal  of  his  laxities  which  caused  a  growing 
aversion  to  Charlotte  whose  cold  dignity  repelled  him  when  he  saw 
that  he  could  not  coarsen  her  and  mould  her  to  his  ferocious  moods. 
Charlotte  found  conditions  very  different  at  the  Muscovite  Court 
from  those  in  the  pleasant  duchy  of  Brunswick  where  simplicity  and 
cleanliness  and  morality  had  obtained.  She  was  taught  anew  the 
rigors  of  coercive  deportment,  curbed  and  restrained  constantly  and 
surrounded  by  stern  dignitaries  and  strange  ladies-in-waiting,  her 
own  being  banished  from  her  more  familiar  service.  A  Protestant, 

25 


she  was  perforce  instructed  in  the  Greek  religion  and  the  Russian 
language,  necessitating  hours  of  isolation  from  any  save  priests  and 
tutors.  Her  dancing  was  altered,  the  joyous  free  step  of  her  native 
people  being  considered  too  indign  for  the  overpowering  pomp  of 
the  Czar's  household.  This  was,  in  itself,  perhaps  the  most  corrupt 
in  Europe,  but  it  wore  ermine  gaily  over  its  leprous  body  and  dic- 
tated its  stilted  and  absurd  etiquette.  Living  was  an  admixture  of 
luxury  and  barbarism  in  the  palace  and  the  innocent  girl,  projected 
so  swiftly  from  sane  influences  into  environs  of  actual  filth  and 
moral  laxities,  quailed  humanly  at  her  problem.  Spies  were  set 
about  her,  not  because  she  was  suspected  of  any  wrong,  but  as  a 
custom  that  must  be  followed.  No  one  might  speak  to  her  in  a  low 
tone  and  she  must  summon  none  of  her  country-women  though  she 
yearned  to  speak  her  own  tongue  with  those  retainers  who  had 
shared  the  dangers  of  the  journey  with  her  and  the  change  in  their 
fortunes,  leal  to  her  service.  Her  letters  must  be  composed  by  the 
Council  of  Foreign  Affairs  and  she  was  permitted  only  to  sign  them 
which  often  she  was  obliged  to  do  though  they  expressed  cruelties  of 
which  her  soul  was  incapable.  In  communicating  with  her  parents 
and  sisters  she  would  plead  for  the  boon  of  a  personal  message  but 
she  was  rebuffed  into  silence  and  warned  that  the  Council  knew  bet- 
ter than  she  the  proprieties  of  correspondence.  She  feared  the  mis- 
judgment  of  her  affection  would  be  the  result  and  that  her  own 
people  would  believe  her  lost  to  them  through  her  own  will  and  a 
change  of  heart  allying  her  to  her  new  country.  Yet  what  redress 
was  there  of  a  Czar  who  condemned  his  wife  and  sister  to  the  or- 
deal of  the  knout  and  who,  when  not  engaged  in  endless  wanderings 
or  war,  played  with  his  puppet-dwarf  and  a  monkey  and  was  only 
less  abandoned  than  his  son?  She  had  too  often  trembled  to  see 
Peter's  brutal  violence  against  his  victims  and  shivered  against  the 
blasphemy  of  his  cynical  piety ;  but  whether  coarse  buffoon  or  mock- 
ing precant  he  was  more  approachable  than  Alexis  whose  hatred  of 
her  increased  daily  after  his  first  days  of  gloating  possession.  He 
strove  to  drag  her  to  his  level  and  to  indurate  her  sensibilities  with 
roystering  associates  at  one  of  his  numerous  estates  far  from  artificial 
echoes  of  palace  decorum.  Her  finer  texture  had  only  served  to  ex- 
asperate the  reprobate  and  he  would  recite  to  her  the  intimate  details 
of  his  amours  and  vaunt  publicly  his  open  liaisons  with  scullery- 
maids  who  could  neither  read  nor  write.  At  her  prayers  to  his 

26 


self-respect  he  flew  at  her  in  wild-beast  fashion,  calling  her  vile 
names  and  beating  her  senseless.  Her  women  trembled  but  dared 
not  even  report  his  orgasms  lest  punishment  fall  upon  them  for  tale- 
bearing, an  especial  horror  of  Alexis  whose  deeds  could  not  stand 
relation.  When  her  son  was  born  it  was  received  by  the  Court  and 
Ministers  and  removed  to  another  part  of  the  palace  and  she  was 
permitted  to  see  it  lying  in  its  black  fur-lined  cradle  only  on  state 
occasions.  No  one  came  near  her  after  confinement  and  she  lay 
for  hours  thus  untended,  fairly  perishing  of  thirst.  Her  rich  trous- 
seau was  replaced  at  once  by  Russian  characteristic  dress,  and  she 
was  made  to  wear  beshmet,  sarafan,  chuviafyi  and  the  heavily  jewel- 
ed head-dress  of  the  fyokoshnify. 

Her  toilet  implements  were  encrusted  with  gems  worth  a 
ransom  in  rubles,  her  prayer-book  was  heavily  bediamonded;  yet 
in  the  midst  of  rococo  magnificence  vermin  infested  her  rooms  and, 
after  a  rain,  pools  of  water  stood  upon  the  floor.  There  were 
sweeps  of  crimson  damask  and  priceless  tapestries  on  the  broken 
walls  but  her  room  held  only  a  bed  and  a  chair,  and  there  was  no 
ventilation  or  effort  at  repair.  Doors  did  not  shut  nor  windows 
open  yet  draughts  scurried  in  the  interstices  of  the  walls  and  fairly 
froze  those  who  did  not  spend  their  time  in  the  smoky  air  of  the 
still-rooms. 

A  month  before  the  birth  of  her  first  child  Alexis  unjustly 
charged  her  with  recounting  his  indecencies  to  the  Czar.  Charlotte 
denied  any  participation  in  the  rumors,  whereupon  the  churl  kicked 
her  and  with  curses  showered  her  with  such  heavy  blows  that  the 
infant  was  destroyed  and  the  life  of  the  young  mother  for  weeks 
trembled  in  the  balance. 

His  natural  brutality  was  given  full  play  before  the  passage 
of  a  year  and  after  the  affliction  of  three  violent  illnesses  it  was 
proved  that  he  had  tried  to  poison  her.  When  her  second  child 
was  born  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  make  every  possible  allowance  for 
her  ferocious  husband  and  sincerely  tried  to  show  good-will  to  him, 
complete  forgiveness  and  the  rarest  qualities  of  her  mind  and  heart 
proved  that  she  was  submissive  and  her  will  broken.  She  revived  in- 
terest in  her  singing  and  forced  herself  to  play  upon  the  harp,  at 
which  she  made  so  rare  a  picture;  but  Alexis  was  cold  to  every  en- 
deavor, insulting  her,  using  only  brusque  tones  and  hateful  glances 
whenever  court  etiquette  forced  her  presence  upon  him.  The  careful- 

27 


ly  cosseted  health  of  her  girlhood  stood  her  in  good  stead,  and  des- 
pite all  these  cruelties  she  survived  them  and  maintained  her  sweet 
dignity  toward  all  the  Court.  Charlotte  would  have  appealed  to  the 
Czar  for  his  influence  upon  her  husband,  but  Peter  and  the  Czarina 
Catherine  were  occupied  in  foreign  countries  and  when  at  home 
were  too  much  engaged  in  State  affairs  or  were  too  indifferent  to 
succor  her.  Peter  was  ambitious  to  emerge  from  the  obscurity  of 
his  predecessors  and  to  put  himself  in  a  position  to  create  a  new 
Empire;  grown  dizzy  with  power  he  felt  within  himself  con- 
stant stirrings  of  conquest  though  already  he  was  held  as  famous  in 
the  chantiers  of  Amsterdam  as  he  had  made  himself  at  the  battle 
of  Pultowa.  None  other  dared  to  oppose  Alexis'  violences. 

Charlotte's  children,  Peter  and  Natalie,  were  removed  at  birth 
and  she  was  not  allowed  to  nurture  them  or  even  see  them.  After 
this  incredible  brutality  Charlotte  smiled  no  more  nor  attempted  to 
use  her  affability  and  charm  upon  either  husband  or  Court.  She 
was  as  a  dead  woman,  inside,  an  automaton  who  must  articulate  for 
the  space  a  master-key  had  designed. 

VI. 

On  a  day  a  battered  package  was  received  at  the  Imperial 
palace  addressed  to  Charlotte.  The  wrappings  disclosed  only  a 
russet  petal.  Charlotte  was  alone  save  for  the  presence  of  the 
Countess  of  Kb'nigsberg.  Charlotte  held  it  to  the  light  and  the 
etched  date  of  her  birth  betrayed  itself.  Her  head  sank  into  her 
folded  arms  and  she  wept  and  called  silently  upon  her  God.  The 
Countess  rose  and  comforted  her,  meanwhile  taking  note  of  the 
clumsy  package,  its  battered  condition  and  the  post-mark.  She 
gathered  up  all  save  the  petal  and  put  them  on  the  hearth  and  set  a 
candle  to  lick  up  the  inflammable  dross.  Not  any  too  soon,  for 
Alexis,  without  warning,  strode  into  the  apartment.  The  Countess 
discreetly  withdrew  but  remained  within  hearing,  knowing  the  ex- 
cesses of  which  the  brute  was  capable.  He  went  straight  to  the 
point — he  permitted  himself  no  amenities  with  his  wife.  "You  will 
invite  my  new  Dushenffa  to  Court,"  he  said.  "Tonight.  She  is 

28 


a  Cossack  and  her  name  is  Ulitka.  I  mean  this.  At  once.  Yei 
BoguT 

Charlotte  was  stimulated  by  the  breath  of  the  magnolia-petal 
which  had  journeyed  from  Louisiana  to  comfort  her  with  its  brief 
text.  Her  whole  future  was  to  feel  the  effect  of  that  mere  rag  of 
flower.  [ 

She  rose  and  flashed  her  defiance  at  his  insult  "That  will  I 
not  do." 

"Yok?  Durotchka!"  he  cried  and  spat.  "There  is  always 
the  torturing-room  left,"  he  threatened. 

"The  torturing-room  is  here",  she  answered,  meeting  his  rage 
with  melancholy.  Alexis  wheeled  about,  shocked  by  her  defiance. 
He  struck  at  her  a  blow  leveled  at  her  temple,  and  she  fell ;  then  he 
kicked  her,  cursed  her,  grimly  surveyed  the  barbarity  he  had  com- 
mitted and  left  the  room. 

Unconscious  and  bathed  in  blood,  the  listening  Countess  found 
the  broken  body  and  tried  every  means  at  hand  to  arouse  her.  Aid 
was  summoned  and  restoratives  ventured.  'Twas  her  women 
who  worshipped  her  who  conceived  the  plan  to  send  word  to  the 
departing  Alexis  that  his  wife  was  dead  of  his  blows. 

He  had  ridden  off  to  one  of  his  shooting-boxes  for  a  carnival 
of  drunkenness  and  women  and  when  the  tidings  of  his  wife's  re- 
ported death  reached  him  he  laughed  and  drained  a  chapura,  a 
wooden  cup  containing  eight  glassfuls  of  chifyhir.  But  he  cautiously 
dispatched  a  courier  to  command  that  Charlotte  be  interred  without 
ceremony  or  rites,  thinking  thereby  to  disabuse  the  public  mind  of 
undue  knowledge  of  the  brutalities  to  which  he  had  submitted  her 
the  night  before. 

Those  were  the  days  of  leechers  and  cheap  life  and  it  was  not 
difficult  after  a  command  from  a  Czarewitz  for  a  great  lady  such 
as  the  Countess  Kb'nigsberg  to  order  a  funeral  for  any  one  pro- 
nounced by  her  to  be  dead.  When  Charlotte  had  opened  her  eyes 
upon  a  world  that  offered  her  so  much  of  humiliation  and  sorrow,  the 
Countess  was  the  only  attendant  near.  She  bent  her  head  low  so 
that  the  figure  still  upon  the  floor  where  she  had  been  trodden  might 
hear  her  beyond  peradventure  of  ambushed  listeners.  "Thank 
God  you  still  live!"  whispered  the  Countess.  "Though  your  fate 
is  more  sad  than  that  of  any  woman,  you  are  loved  by  many.  Let 
that  assurance  hearten  you,  Beloved  Highness." 

29 


Charlotte  closed  her  eyes.  "I  had  hoped  it  was  Death,"  she 
murmured  and  then  burst  into  tears. 

The  Countess  rose  and  passed  from  one  door  to  another  of  the 
vast  apartment,  stirring  an  arras  here  and  there,  and  holding  her 
faculties  alert.  Returning  to  the  recumbent  sufferer  she  slid  beside 
her  and  with  apparent  attention  of  soothing  her  bloody  brow  with 
cool  water  and  with  her  own  handkerchief,  she  whispered;  "Your 
life  is  indeed  as  terrible  as  hell  must  be.  Therefore  Death  can  hold 
no  terror  for  you,  Liebchen.  I  am  saying  to  you  that  I  believe 
there  is  a  way  out.  I  risk  my  own  salvation — my  hope  of  seeing  the 
Face  of  God.  But  such  is  my  devotion  to  you,  Beloved,  that  I 
have  a  half-belief  that  in  extinguishing  your  dolors  at  any  cost,  I  am 
making  plea  with  the  Great  Father  to  look  in  mercy  upon  my  past 
frailties."  The  Countess  paused  and  crooned  a  bit  of  Russian  song 
as  if  she  were  lulling  a  child  to  sleep,  holding  the  picture  of  minis- 
trant  the  while,  lest  some  courtier's  eye  mistrust  her  concern  and 
abort  its  outcome. 

"The  Little  Father  has  long  fostered  the  peculiar  talents  of  a 
chemist  of  St.  Petersburg,"  she  whispered,  half  singing  the  while, 
to  cloud  her  words.  "He  claims  to  have  proved  that  he  can  infuse 
strange  herbs  and  concoct  therewith  a  liquor  which  has  power  to  sus- 
pend life  itself.  It  has  been  known  to  fail  and  death  ensue  upon  the 
the  prisoners  on  whom  the  potion  was  essayed.  Yet  others  lived 
after  a  period  of  hours, — more  often  they  lived.  I  have  watched 
this  experiment  for  months — I  did  not  know  why,  Charlottechen — 
It  may  mean  Death!  Will  you  risk  all  on  the  draught?" 

"Af(h,  Bozhe  moi,  my  children "  murmured  Charlotte 

sighing  deeply  and  sending  her  melancholy  appeal  for  help  into  the 
fond  eyes  of  the  Countess. 

"At  birth  they  were  taken  away  to  be  cared  for  by  venal 
strangers.  Their  education  is  to  be  Muskowitish,  they  are  probably 
being  taught  to  hate  you.  Forgive  me,  dear  one,  but  I  cannot 
choose  my  words  in  assaying  this  terrible  Russian  household  nor 

will  I  offer  you  false  hope Have  you  anywhere  to  repair 

should  you  accomplish  your  escape?" 

Charlotte  closed  her  eyes  to  check  fresh  tears  of  hopelessness 
and  actual  pain  and  her  features  contracted  in  the  effort  of  re- 
pression. She  pressed  the  hand  of  her  sympathetic  friend. 

"Of  course  you  cannot  go  to  your  father — Muscovite  lies  have 

30 


embittered  him  against  you,"  thought  the  Countess  audibly.  "If  there 

could  be  a  way  to  hide  in  Russia but  the  punishment  would 

be  terrible  if  discovery  followed Charlotte!  will  you  drink 

the  potion?  Does  death  affright  you?  How  does  life  balance  the 
hazard?" 

From  her  bed  of  humiliation  which  had  been  pressed  only  by 
the  feet  of  others,  Charlotte  arrested  her  pain  by  the  flight  of  thought 
which  left  a  discouraging  inventory :  the  martyrdom  she  endured,  the 
monster  who  had  every  right  upon  her,  her  arms  empty  of  the 
children  she  had  borne  and  over  unknown  seas  to  an  unknown 
wilderness  where  one  loved  her  in  despair  and  in  spite  of  silence  and 
the  passing  of  years.  She  flushed  at  her  theft  of  the  remembrance 
of  that  love  which  seemed  to  threaten  all  sense  of  near  duty  and 
she  would  have  put  it  away  but  for  the  luring  voice  of  the  Countess. 

"Is  there  no  one in  the  New  World,  perhaps, 

Charlotte,  whoever  loves  you  there  is  worth  ten  thousand  thrones 
and  all  this  mockery  of  station.  Go  to  him.  I  dare  uncover  this 
secret  passion  of  yours  to  bring  you  to  a  sense  of  duty  to  yourself. 
Forgive  me  and  believe  in  my  devotion  and  willingness  to  serve 
you.  If  it  is  your  will  rather  to  sip  a  more  noxious  poison,  I  shall 
prove  my  love  by  sharing  it." 

Looking  into  the  eyes  above  her  Charlotte  was  stimulated  by 
the  ardent  friendship  whose  testimony  was  registered  there  and  she 
rose  staggeringly  and  drew  the  Countess  into  her  embrace. 
"yatyushlpl  Life  to  me  is  worse  than  that  of  the  slave's  in  Siberia," 
she  murmured,  'and  surely  the  blows  of  him  who  should  cherish 
me  are  far  more  cruel  than  the  knout.  He  has  bereaved  me  of  my 
little  ones  whom  I  should  not  know  from  among  others  were  they 
to  enter  this  room."  The  kicks  and  blows,  the  shame  and  forced 
association  with  his  mistresses,  some  of  them  kitchen-wenches,  the 
oaths  and  contumely,  filled  her  days  and  nights  and  only  the  de- 
votion of  the  Countess  Konigsberg  and  her  tire-woman  made  little 
rifts  of  toleration  which  held  her  faith  in  humanity  and  saved  her 
reason.  Was  there  in  life  really  escape  from  such  bondage?  Sud- 
denly she  released  her  friend  and  gently  pushed  her  away.  "Seek 
the  chemist,"  she  whispered.  "Make  any  plans  you  choose  for  me. 
My  will  is  broken.  And  remember,  there  is  only  gratitude  for  your 
services  whatever  the  outcome.  In  my  heart  I  hope  the  phial  will 
bring  me  Death." 

31 


Truly  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  The  Countess,  disguised 
as  one  of  her  own  maids,  quitted  the  palace  and  sought  the  apothe- 
cary favored  by  Peter  and  with  her  wit  and  rubles  obtained  the 
fateful  drug,  swearing  upon  an  ikon  that  no  trace  of  the  transfer 
would  ever  connect  him  with  the  consequences. 

Passing  the  day  upon  her  knees  and  in  tender  farewells  to  the 
little  group  of  women  who  worshipped  their  alien  Princess,  with 
death-bells  reverberrating  about  her  and  the  mockery  of  crape 
contributing  its  shudder  to  her  crucial  act,  Charlotte  lifted  the 
potion  to  her  lips.  She  had  asked  divine  forgiveness,  believing  it 
would  justify  her;  so  without  blenching  at  impending  entombment 
she  drank  farewell  to  her  misery  and  a  toast  to  a  love  supernal  as 
the  stars,  whereby  her  soul  traversed  the  seas  to  a  lover  in  the  wild- 
erness. Her  lips  smiled  as  she  swooned,  with  the  instant  miracle  of 
their  union! 

VII. 

The  bulletin  announcing  the  demise  of  the  royal  Charlotte  had 
sent  its  tremors  into  the  steeples  of  St.  Petersburg  and  in  the  little 
churches  of  its  demesnes,  tolling  a  relay  of  tenebration  to  the  vil- 
lages where  her  fame  for  virtue  had  made  her  loved. 

The  Countess  of  Kb'nigsberg  had  crossed  the  frail  hands  over 
the  breast  of  the  Princess,  placing  a  jeweled  ikon  in  their  clasp. 
The  Court  was  summoned  and  the  Privy  Councillor  and  many 
ministers  and  ambassadors  entered  the  apartment  to  formally  verify 
the  death.  Long  the  Councillor  gazed  upon  the  face  of  cold  beauty 
and  felt  deep  resentment  against  a  fate  which  had  so  foully  used 
this  victim  of  Romanoff  lust. 

"The  absence  of  His  Highness,  Alexis  Petrowitz,  is  regret- 
table", said  the  statesman.  "He  has  sent  a  courier  to  announce  his 
indisposition  which  makes  the  return  journey  impossible,  and  urges 
haste  in  consigning  this  saintly  wife  to  the  tomb.  He  fears  in- 
vestigation and  would  check  evil  report.  It  is  indeed  a  sorry  day 

may  God  restrain  any  other  good  woman  from  a  marriage  with 

the  tyrant."  Beautiful  in  her  semblance  of  carved  marble  the  Coun- 
cillor compared  the  exanimate  Princess  with  the  slave-girl,  Afrosinia, 
now  sojourning  with  her  master  at  Tzarko'i  Selo  whose  liberties  were 
surer  and  treatment  kindlier  that  the  noble  wife's  had  been. 

32 


A  sudden  gust  swept  the  streets,  blowing  an  almost  level  sheet 
of  rain,  which,  seeking  weakest  points  in  the  roof's  disrepair,  sent 
a  steady  drip  upon  the  prone  figure.  The  Chancellor  tenderly 
fetched  a  rug  and  placed  it  over  the  body.  Taking  advantage  of 
this  show  of  feeling  the  Countess  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  Her 
brain  was  confused  by  the  plans  that  crowded  her  imagination  and 
she  sought  for  words  to  put  a  vital  request  for  needful  action. 

"You  will  graciously  remain  with  the  corpse  of  Her  High- 
ness", commanded  the  great  man.  "The  Czar  is  probably  in 
Holland  as  also  the  Empress  Catherine.  We  must  not  lack  in 
doing  honor  to  our  noble  Princess  though  her  natural  mourner,  the 
Czarewitz,  is  drunken  with  green  wine  or  his  favorite  Tartar  in- 
ebriation, Buza,"  He  threw  another  glance  upon  the  still  form 
on  the  couch.  "Poor  Mammhka!"  and  the  mists  of  the  outer  air 
seemed  to  have  suffocated  his  further  speech. 

The  Countess  dried  her  eyes  and  plunged  into  the  crisis  of  the 
interview.  "Your  Excellency,  the  pity  you  bestow  upon  this  un- 
fortunate princess  will  shine  in  your  account  in  heaven," 
she  murmured.  "And  since  I  know  you  to  be  clement  and  of  deep 
sympathy  I  make  bold  to  ask  an  indulgence  of  your  high  influence. 
I  pray  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  remain  beside  the  bier  in  the 
Imperial  tomb  during  this,  her  last  night  on  earth.  Tomorrow  her 
fair  flesh  will  be  enveloped  with  the  dust  of  the  Romanoff 
sovereigns,  and  we  will  know  her  no  more.  Grant  my  boon  and  to 
the  hour  of  my  death.  I  shall  recommend  your  mercy  to  the  Great 
Father." 

The  Councillor  noted  no  over-ardency  in  the  request  though  it 
was  unusual  for  a  woman  who  ordinarily  must  have  quailed  before 
such  an  ordeal.  The  Countess  gazed  unflinchingly  into  his  eyes. 

"You  are  a  woman  of  courage,"  said  the  Councillor.  "You 
must  indeed  esteem  the  dead  as  a  daughter.  I  will  give  an  order  to 
pass  the  guards  and  that  your  vigil  be  respected  as  the  dead.  Da 
Svidanya." 

Charlotte's  fair  body  was  laid  in  a  priceless  coffin  and  a  pall 
of  rich  gold  tissue  spread  upon  it.  Thousands  kissed  her  clasped 
hands  and  knelt  at  her  bier  to  intercede  for  her  early  release  from 
Purgatory.  Believing  in  her  sanctity  they  knew  she  could  urge  divine 
favors  for  themselves,  so  many  and  long  were  the  orisons  breathed 
in  the  hush  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity. 

33 


As  on  the  occasion  of  her  entrance  into  St.  Petersburg  as  a 
bride,  so  stirred  the  chimes  and  carolled  the  school-children.  Many 
gorgeously  garmented  priests  bearing  the  holiest  reliquaries, 
crucifers;  acolytes  swinging  censers  and  choir  brethren  intoning 
litanies,  led  the  magnificent  cortege.  Royalty  walked  afoot  car- 
rying burning  tapers  in  their  hands.  Again  the  twelve  bands  of 
St.  Petersburg  blared  their  brasses  in  honor  of  Charlotte,  and  again 
floated  the  empire's  flags,  but  now  portentous  with  blots  of  black. 
The  waiting  attendants  who  had  followed  her  into  bleak  and  love- 
less exile  were  allowed  their  place  after  the  glittering  military  and 
beribboned  statesmen.  Stark  she  lay  in  the  gilded  hearse  with  its 
myriad  sable  plumes,  insensate  to  the  muffled  drums  beating  death's 
tattoo  and  the  sound  of  barbaric  threnodies.  All-important 
functionaries,  officers  of  high  rank  and  the  mightiest  courtiers  walk- 
ed in  the  long  black  procession,  and  the  great  horde  of  spectators, 
with  the  volatility  of  such,  wept  their  tear,  admired  the  banners  and 
then  made  holiday  of  the  event. 

Charlotte's  coffin  was  placed  on  a  marble  sarcophagus  in  the 
chapel-like  tomb  and  the  Countess  of  Kb'nigsberg  began  a  night  of 
grim  association  with  her  mistress,  full  of  misgivings  for  the  out- 
come. In  waxen  sleep  Charlotte  lay  as  the  Countess  tensely 
searched  by  a  flickering  torch  for  a  token  of  awakening.  The 
chill  vault  had  no  power  to  make  her  sensible  of  her  own  discomfort 
as  she  anticipated  an  answering  sign  of  life.  The  hours  passed  and 
St.  Petersburg  slept. 

At  the  change  of  guards  towards  dawn  the  restraint  of  the 
Countess  grew  less  under  her  command.  It  was  now  time  to  act  if 
Charlotte  be  still  alive  and  her  escape  to  be  accomplished. 

In  the  guard  was  one  whose  service  was  absolute,  despite  risk 
or  terror  of  death,  by  mention  of  the  name  of  le  Marechal  de  Saxe, 
her  son.  He  would  be  at  the  north  portal  of  the  tomb  ...  he  was 
there  now  in  the  black  silence  in  which  none  could  see.  Closer 
pressed  the  Countess  to  the  quiet  Charlotte.  She  started  and  the 
thrill  of  hope  and  dread  shook  her  own  form.  Was  that  the  flicker 
of  the  torch  which  spread  color  upon  the  cheek  lately  so  pallid  and 
sunken?  Were  the  blue  lips  actually  deepening  to  scarlet?  The 
Countess  seized  her  all-encircling  mantle,  threw  it  over  Charlotte, 
and  leaned  hard  to  yield  to  the  cold  form  the  heat  of  her  own. 

Charlotte's  eyes  opened  slowly  and  she  shuddered. 
34 


"Liebchen,  it  is  I,  the  Konigsberg all  is  well.  Do  not 

utter  a  word  ....  Thank  God  for  you!  I  will  help  you  to 

rise Can  you  walk?  Listen.  My  batenfya,  brave,  reliable 

Ilyukha,  and  Aenchen,  are  in  the  shadow  of  the  north  portal. 
They  have  a  well-filled  purse  and  a  casket  of  your  personal  jewels. 
May  your  adventure  prosper  and  may  we  meet  again  on  earth. 
God  tend  you  now!" 

Gaining  her  feet,  Charlotte,  now  thoroughly  aroused,  shook 
off  the  lethargy  enhazing  her  and  pressed  a  passionate  kiss  of 
gratitude  upon  the  lips  of  her  trusted  friend.  Thus  she  issued  from 
the  royal  tenement  of  the  dead,  the  Countess'  mantle  enveloping 
her  cerements;  nameless,  unknown,  but  vibrant  with  hope  natural 
to  her  twenty-three  years.  The  batenfya  joined  her  in  the  sombre 
shadow  of  the  tomb,  addressing  her  briefly  in  French  and  indicat- 
ing the  presence  of  the  maid  further  on. 

Thus  did  Charlotte  fare  forth  to  another  epoch,  risen  from  the 
dead  that  she  might  live  a  fuller,  nobler  existence,  expunging  the 
miseries  of  seven  years  when  her  betrothal  had  interrupted  the  one 
love-dream  native  to  her  simple  heart. 

And  as  she  sped  away  all  Europe  wore  the  trappings  of  grief 
for  a  log  which  had  replaced  her  in  the  coffin  and  which  was  ac- 
corded State  burial  in  the  escutcheoned  tomb  of  the  Romanoffs  on 
which  one  may  today  read  her  carved  name ! 

The  little  group,  all  traveling  in  man's  attire,  fled  to  the  coast, 
made  their  way  to  Hamburg,  thence  to  Paris  and  to  Havre-de- 
Grace,  after  many  adventures  inescapable  to  those  who  journeyed 
in  primitive  Russia,  their  incognito  serving  both  as  shield  and  de- 
terrent, according  to  the  varying  circumstances.  Charlotte  and  her 
maid  retired  to  quiet  lodgings,  Ilyukha  alone  venturing  out  for  food 
and  for  information.  Recognition  of  the  Princess  would  have  been 
fateful  indeed  and  Charlotte  strove  for  its  avoidance. 

D'Aubant,  it  was  learned,  was  still  Captain  of  the  New 
Orleans  militia  and  as  he  had  asked  for  no  leave  it  was  presumable 
that  so  he  would  remain  until  she  could  span  the  leagues  between 
them.  We  are  told  that  the  Princess  took  ship  of  the  Compagnie 
des  Indes  to  which  the  Grand  Monarch  had  conceded  the  right  of 
colonizing  "Louisiana  that  was  also  termed  Mississippi". 

Eight  hundred  emigrants,  fascinated  by  the  promises  of  John 
Law,  embarked  on  the  merchantman  "Dolphin",  which  bore  the 

35 


Princess  Charlotte;  most  of  these  were  Germans  risking  health, 
savings  and  future  on  the  adventure. 

With  Ilyukha  whom  she  called  "Father"  and  the  good 
Aenchen  who  must  replace  many  tire-women  of  the  past,  our  il- 
lustrious Inconnue  watched  the  shores  of  the  Old  World  slip  into 
ocean  with  tear-flooded  eyes.  Her  personal  sorrows  had  not 
warped  her  and  she  might  have  been  happy  were  she  not  over- 
whelmed with  a  mighty  regret  that  she  would  never  clasp  her  babes 
again. 

The  night  brought  a  hurricane  with  all  the  dramatic  ritual  of 
heaven  and  waters,  so  that  the  brigantine  seemed  lost  and  the  la- 
mentations of  the  crew  further  affrighted  the  passengers.  There 
were  scant  comforts  aboard  the  insanitarily  congested  ship:  for 
several  days  no  food  could  be  prepared  and  the  timbers  shook  off 
the  feet  that  would  tread  them.  Like  a  spirit  the  imperially-bred 
woman  moved  among  the  sick,  fearless  and  compassionate,  nursing, 
soothing,  heartening,  incarnate  charity  voicing  prayer  to  the  discon- 
solate. 

For  ten  days  the  "Dolphin"  was  becalmed,  making  of  ship- 
life  a  hateful  prison  with  starvation  imminent. 

In  this  after-calm  she  effaced  herself  as  much  as  she  was  per- 
mitted, though  the  children  of  the  emigrants  urged  upon  her  their 
love  and  caresses  which  she  reciprocated  in  memory  of  her  own  little 
ones.  She  represented  Ilyukha  always  as  her  father  and  though  she 
conducted  herself  as  simply  as  possible  it  was  felt  that  she  must 
be  a  great  lady  whom  misfortune  had  marked  for  its  own.  She  spoke 
affably  in  German  and  French  with  the  poorest.  Her  servants 
eschewed  Russian  that  no  later  report  identify  their  mistress  and 
the  passage  of  days  accustomed  the  little  group  to  their  new  con- 
dition. 

In  March  of  the  year  1721  the  brigantine  arrived  in  safety 
though  with  considerable  loss  of  rigging,  limping  upstream  from  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  weary  from  its  long  and  weary  voyage.  Charlotte 
took  part  in  the  final  councils  of  the  adventurers  of  fortune  as  they 
joined  their  funds  for  the  making  of  a  settlement  on  the  bank  of  the 
River  and  received  the  acclaim  of  their  grateful  hearts  for  her 
ministrations  during  the  month. 

The  low-lying  town  had  suffered  from  a  flange  of  the  West 
Indian  hurricane  which  had  almost  logged  the  "Dolphin",  and  the 

36 


voyagers,  beaten  in  spirit,  looked  dully  from  its  decks  upon  unroof- 
ed cabins  and  prone  trees.  To  "Madame  de  Moldau"  as  she  was 
known  to  them,  they  appealed  for  consolation,  but  indeed  her  own 
courage  quailed  before  the  Indian  hut  which  was  the  only  harbor 
offered  and  for  which  she  was  taxed  unfairly.  The  hut  was  op- 
pressed with  noisome  smells,  whined  with  swamp-mosquitoes,  echo- 
ed the  throb  of  frogs'  calls  and  pulsated  with  tropic  heat. 

It  was  past  noon  when  the  Princess  touched  foot  at  the  land- 
ing, and  at  once  she  instructed  Ilyukha  to  discover  the  whereabouts 
of  the  Chevalier  Captain  Henri  d'Aubant.  Her  anxiety  increased 
as  she  awaited  the  return  of  the  faithful  old  man.  Might  he  not 
have  traversed  the  seas,  crossing  her  path  during  the  hurricane,  to 
return  to  France  forever?  Might  not  his  intrepid  spirit  have  given 
itself  back  to  God  and  the  world  know  him  no  more?  Thus 
Charlotte  tortured  herself  in  the  interval  of  waiting,  courage  and 
despair  alternating  their  companionship. 

The  venerable  Ilyukha  hastened  on  his  mission,  repairing 
first  to  the  Champ  de  Mars  where  the  scant  militia  were  drilled  in 
the  early  days  of  colonization.  He  was  directed  to  the  Barracks, 
on  the  riverbank,  below  the  little  Church  of  St.  Louis  which  was  the 
core  of  the  sparse  settlement.  He  was  there  informed  that  Monsieur 
the  Capitaine  d'Aubant,  having  fulfilled  the  duties  of  the  day  had 
repaired  on  horseback  to  his  chalet  on  the  border  of  Bayou  St. 
John ;  and  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  send  a  messenger  to  recall 
the  officer.  The  portage  path  used  by  the  Indians  to  convoy 
pirogues  between  the  River  and  Lake  Pontchartrain  was  desig- 
nated by  the  soldier  who  would  have  been  glad  to  prolong  the  in- 
tercourse with  one  so  recently  from  the  older  civilization.  Ilyukha 
was  wordy  without  being  communicative,  very  polite,  very  obliged ; 
hurrying  away  with  the  tidings  for  his  mistress. 

Ignorant  of  the  distance  to  be  covered,  the  dauntless  Princess 
set  forth,  adjuring  her  servitor  to  spare  himself  as  he  brushed  her 
path  free  of  venturesome  boscage  and  the  spiked  and  berried  yupon, 
cactus,  stinging  yucca,  that  would  have  impeded  her  fleet  passage. 
Arrived  at  the  edge  of  a  tortuous  stream  she  cast  about  for  a  sign 
of  habitation.  Smoke  arose  from  among  the  trees  on  the  opposite 
bank  and  Charlotte  sought  a  means  to  cross  the  Bayou.  Suddenly, 
a  stately  Indian  form  rose,  almost  in  her  path,  staring  his  inquiry. 

37 


She  gave  the  name  of  d'Aubant  and  the  Redskin  grunted,  treading 
softly  toward  the  smoke  rising  in  the  trees. 

Mists  floated  from  the  swamps  toward  the  city's  marge,  em- 
pearling  all  green  things  as  a  blightless  frost.  It  was  a  panoply  of 
peace  over  the  Indian  village  that  seemed  further  detached  from  the 
settlement  of  White  Men  thrilling  on  the  River  borders  with  the 
pulse  of  many  peoples  generating  energies  which  were  to  make  of 
it  later  a  mighty  metropolis. 

Twilight  is  belated  in  New  Orleans,  and  Nature  waits  long 
for  it,  aswoon  beneath  the  heat.  Just  as  pleasure  makes  a  toil  of  a 
pageant,  they  marvel  when  it  is  over  that  so  much  fatigue  should 
attend  so  brief  a  glory. 

An  Indian  mother  crept  along  the  path  smoothed  by  moc- 
casined  feet,  jogging  a  sleepy  baby  involuntarily  in  her  haste.  Her 
arms  were  full  of  herbs  and  her  eyes  gave  no  heed  to  the  coppery 
sky  that  made  the  world  so  drab  and  so  small  in  contrast  with  its  pas- 
sion. Dulled  by  routine-service,  she  hurried  to  her  final  tasks  and 
was  blotted  into  the  wilderness. 

Frogs  began  tentatively  to  bay  their  evening  mood.  Here 
and  there  the  swimming  length  of  an  alligator  paused  near  the  brink 
of  the  Bayou.  Mocking-birds  vocalized  the  ecstasy  of  coming  re- 
pose. A  slight  breeze  rippled  the  Spanish  mosses  in  the  water- 
oaks,  perfuming  the  night  with  azalea,  magnolia  and  yellow-jasmine. 
In  the  silence  there  was  sound  that  still  was  silence,  but  the  spirit 
heard,  as  if  grasshoppers  hummed  far-away  tunes  or  parish  bells 
carilloneured  down  a  twilighted  road. 

Within  the  hut  constructed  of  crude  timber,  d'Aubant  sat  at 
his  worship  before  the  portrait  of  Charlotte,  the  little  lamp  set 
ready  for  its  vigil.  "Fortunate  little  flickering  life,"  he  apostro- 
phized the  article  of  devotion,  "destined  to  live  so  briefly  but  in  al- 
luming  such  beauty — to  expire  in  her  presence!" 

A  heavy  melancholy  pervaded  him  as  he  sent  his  memory 
Russia-ward,  to  one  who  must  die  to  escape  the  terrors  and  insults 
of  her  condition.  He  reviewed  the  years  since  the  great  mystery  of 
love  had  crept  into  his  heart,  from  which  he  would  not  have  freed 
himself  despite  the  bitterness  it  must  ever  cause.  Burying  his  head 
in  his  hands  he  bowed  in  anguish  before  the  picture's  presence  and 
sobbed  with  the  abandon  of  a  valiant  soul  overborne  which  knows 
there  is  no  possible  intrusion  upon  its  grief. 

38 


He  heard  nothing  but  he  ceased  weeping  abruptly  and  sat  still. 
In  wonderment  he  rose  and  then  turned  slowly  toward  the  door 
which  was  darkened  by  a  slight  figure  adumbrated  against  the 
western  scarlet. 

D'Aubant  stood  transfixed  and  then  his  eyes  wandered  to  the 
wall  where  the  Charlotte  of  his  skill  stood  in  the  glow  of  the  tiny 
red  lamp.  He  reverted  to  the  figure  at  the  portal,  as  moveless  as 
the  other  but  the  eyes  lifted  to  his  bore  circles  of  suffering  and 
sleeplessness  and  there  was  the  quality  of  past  woes  around  her  lips. 

"Are  you  a  spirit  come  to  taunt  me  or  a  woman  to  tempt?" 
asked  d'Aubant  hoarsely,  gripped  with  a  hope  that  was  almost  a 
fear  and  believing  that  madness  threatened. 

The  living  woman  traversed  the  little  space  and  opened  her 
arms.  "I  am  Charlotte",  she  answered,  speaking  low;  "I  am  a 
woman — your  woman — for  all  eternity.  Should  I  have  come?  I 
am  a  refugee  from  the  grave  to  you.  If  your  love  has  changed  I 
have  no  place  on  this  earth  save  another  tomb." 

The  shock  was  weakening  at  first,  but  clasping  each  other  the 
lovers  stood  in  embrace  silent  and  soul-sufficing.  It  was  long  before 
d'Aubant  even  thought  to  seat  her  in  his  one  chair,  to  kneel  before 
her  for  a  recounting  of  her  chapters  of  sorrow.  Together  they  wept, 
but  with  warming  hands  tight-held,  their  tears  were  more  of  relief 
from  strain  and  the  shackles  of  hideous  duty  than  for  living  woes — 
the  actuality  of  these  growing  momentarily  less.  So  the  night  was 
passed,  in  blessed  confidences,  both  receiving  strength  from  reitera- 
tions of  their  mutual  love  that  had  upheld  them  through  hopeless 
disunion. 

Never  was  troth  plighted  by  more  loyal  lovers.  Only  a  dread 
shadow  that  Charlotte's  identity  be  learned  gave  suspense  to  their 
hearts  but  this  they  put  aside;  yet  it  intensified,  perhaps,  their 
yearning  for  one  another,  sharpening  their  zeal  for  that  which  might 
still  be  taken  from  them, — mutual  possession.  Their  passion  had 
stood  all  tests  and  they  would  bear  it  with  them,  they  knew,  beyond 
the  doors  of  death. 

IX. 

"Here  I   fain  would  end 
Leaving    her    harbored." 
Indeed,  it  is  a  temptation  to  leave  Charlotte  reunited  with  her 

39 


knightly  lover,  and  those  who  have  been  diverted  by  her  fortunes  will 
admit  they  are  strange  and  engaging.  But  dare  the  historian  deny 
the  subsequent  fate  of  his  theme?  And  in  the  ensuing  vicissitudes  of 
the  loyal  lovers  is  there  not  a  stronger  lesson  to  be  applied — and 
why  else  do  we  read  if  not  to  learn? — than  through  even  the  forti- 
tude which  has  been  shown  by  both  ? 

It  was  now  become  necessary  to  establish  a  certain  formality 
of  habitation  in  the  meagre  town  in  which  Charlotte,  d'Aubant  and 
their  devoted  servants  began  their  new  life.  Ilyukha  rendered  to 
d'Aubant  the  sum  of  rubles  and  the  jewels  given  him  by  the  Count- 
ess Kb'nigsberg  for  the  maintenance  of  the  Princess,  which 
were  sufficient  to  acquire  a  small  plantation  on  the  Mississippi  con- 
venient to  the  Barracks.  To  this  sum  d'Aubant  added  his  savings ; 
negroes  were  purchased  and  indigo  and  tobacco  planted. 

Here,  then,  is  domiciled  the  former  Russian  Grand  Duchess, 
of  august  blood,  destined  to  the  throne  of  one  of  the  most  vast 
Empires  in  the  world,  now  the  mere  wife  of  a  Captain  of  Infantry 
in  a  land  peopled  with  more  than  six  hundred  negroes  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  nation  of  savages,  coureurs  de  bois,  convicts,  vagabonds, 
adventurers  of  all  kinds. 

Charlotte  patiently  and  lovingly  strove  to  anchor  and  in- 
denizen  this  shifting  and  heterogeneous  people,  giving  counsel  to 
her  spouse  that  his  difficult  duties  amid  the  despotic  policy  of  the 
colonial  system  might  be  easier;  acknowledging  to  him  daily  that 
she  was  a  thousand  times  happier  in  their  present  situation  than  she 
had  been  in  years  past  in  the  Imperial  Palace  at  St.  Petersburg. 

Charlotte  restrained  her  desire  to  mingle  socially  with  the 
colonials,  many  of  whom,  like  the  noble  Bienville,  parent  of  the 
habitants,  Perier,  the  royal  commissary  d'Artaguette,  Lamothe 
Cadillac,  Lebas,  Dirigoin  and  La  Loire  des  Ursins  would  have 
been  welcome  associates  to  herself  and  to  her  husband.  With  the 
arrival  of  the  three  religiouses  from  Paris,  Sisters  Gertrude,  Louise 
and  Bergere  with  a  group  from  the  hospital-general  to  be  wives  for 
the  clamoring  colonists,  Charlotte  inspired  the  fanatic  Cure  de  la 
Vente  to  unusual  consideration  of  the  frightened  girls. 

In  the  simplicity  of  their  course,  in  their  pure  togetherliness, 
Charlotte  often  sent  wondering  sympathy  to  her  sisters,  the  one 
'TImperatrice  d'Occident"  and  the  other  on  the  throne  of  the 
Caesars.  She  smiled  and  held  her  lover  close  and  marveled  that 

40 


God  had  gave  her  the  benison  of  such  mutuality  and  such  peace. 

In  a  twelvemonth  a  son  was  born  to  them,  but  his  life  was  a 
mere  spark  which  flickered  out  in  a  year.  Charlotte  had  too  deep- 
ly suffered  and  her  physical  hardships  had  been  too  acute  to  allow 
fit  physical  reparation  before  this  ordeal  and  the  child-life  paid 
the  toll.  The  tomb  of  this  infant  in  one  of  the  old  St.  Louis 
cemeteries  is  a  nucleus  of  verity  to  this  royal  romance.  Later  a 
daughter  was  born  to  her  which  she  gave  nurture  and  unremitting 
care. 

Christina  was  the  idol  of  the  lovers  and  she  was  taught  to 
lisp  her  baby  phrases  in  French  and  German  interchangeably.  She 
was  mental  but  delicate  in  form,  and  a  constant  solicitude  to  her 
parents.  D'Aubant  while  adoring  his  child,  gave  her  secondary 
place  to  his  wife  the  possession  of  whom  never  staled  into  a  reality. 
A  million  proofs  of  his  devotion  were  manifested  daily;  often  he 
would  fall  upon  his  knees  before  her,  clasping  them  and  relapsing 
into  a  silence  that  could  only  mean  that  he  communed  in  thank- 
fulness for  her  presence  there.  His  maddest  moments  of  passion 
were  restrained  by  respect.  It  was  not  her  high  station  that  affect- 
ed his  attitude,  but  the  appraisal  of  her  virtues  and  past  sufferings, 
her  acceptance  of  his  uncertain  lot  and  the  hardships  of  indenization 
in  a  strange  land,  inspired  his  homage  as  no  Empress  could  have 
done.  With  pangs  he  noted  her  ever-ready  hand  in  his  assistance 
in  the  labors  of  his  establishment  and  in  the  military  accounts  in 
whose  preparation  he  was  responsible.  It  was  a  solemnly  momen- 
tous day  for  them  when  the  tidings  filtered  to  the  tiny  town  through 
European  prints  that  a  catastrophe  had  convulsed  Russia  in  the 
trial  for  treason  against  Peter  the  Great  by  the  Czarewitz,  in  1719. 
The  revolt  was  proved,  the  unnatural  son  having  vaunted,  during 
one  of  his  long  absences  of  the  Czar,  that  his  intention  was  to  pull 
down,  after  his  father's  death,  all  that  the  creative  genius  had 
achieved.  Peter  himself  had  issued  a  manifesto  in  which  he  gave 
account  of  Alexis'  crimes  and  seditions,  his  first  fruitless  efforts  to 
reclaim  him  and  bring  him  to  a  sense  of  filial  and  national  duty. 
Peter  announced  his  resolve  to  abrogate  his  succession  to  the 
throne  and  appointed  in  his  stead  his  half-brother,  Peter,  the  little 
son  of  Catherine,  finally  placing  his  curse  upon  the  fate  of  his 
wicked  son. 

The  Mercure  de  France  then  set  forth  the  pretended  resolve  of 

41 


Alexis  to  enter  a  monastery,  taking  a  solemn  oath  upon  the  Gospel 
that  he  felt  this  to  be  his  vocation:  continuing  his  orgies  the  while, 
making  light  of  his  father's  efforts  to  bring  him  to  reason.  Alexis 
had  dragged  to  his  perjurious  fate  such  adherents  as  had  hoped  to 
fatten  upon  his  favors  by  secretly  espousing  his  cause;  one  of  these 
was  impaled  alive,  a  stake  being  driven  through  his  body  and  thus 
he  was  left  to  die ;  on  the  great  public  square  in  the  heart  of  Moscow 
many  were  broken  on  the  wheel ;  a  bishop  was  burned  alive  and  the 
heads  of  other  offenders  were  set  upon  poles  at  the  four  corners  of 
the  square's  area,  to  wag  hideously  in  the  breeze.  Scourgings  were 
frequent,  as  also  the  bastinado.  Afrosinia,  the  slave,  who  hated  her 
master,  gave  valuable  testimony  to  the  government  and  thus  avenged 
herself  upon  him  for  many  cruelties.  The  convocation  of  clergy 
and  official  dignitaries  concluded  their  recommendations  as  to  the 
fate  of  him  who  was  once  designated  "The  Hope  of  Russia,"  thus; 
"The  heart  of  the  Czar  is  in  the  hands  of  God,  and  may  he  choose 
the  part  to  which  the  hand  of  God  shall  turn  it."  The  council  had 
been  occupied  for  the  space  of  a  week  in  hearing  the  case,  and  when 
their  document  of  decision  was  presented  to  his  Czarian  majesty 
he  confirmed  the  judgment  of  the  council.  On  July  6th  Alexis 
was  arraigned  in  order  that  sentence  of  death  might  be  solemnly 
pronounced  upon  him.  It  was  said  that  the  Czar  had  signed  the 
death-warrant  of  his  son,  "For  the  good  of  Russia;"  in  England  it 
was  reported  that  Peter  had  killed  Alexis  with  his  own  hands  in 
the  prison;  another  rumor  was  that  he  had  been  poisoned,  still 
another  that  devils  had  possessed  him  and  he  had  died  of  apoplexy 
after  a  mighty  struggle. 

Secret  arrangements  were  made  at  once  for  a  blessing  of  their 
union  by  the  exiled  lovers,  and  the  secrecy  of  their  confessor  enjoin- 
ed. So  life  stretched  before  them  peacefully,  far  from  the  hurtling 
schisms  and  crimes  of  Russia.  The  Princess,  civilly  dead  in 
Europe,  desired  never  to  return  there,  the  remembrances  of  her  woes 
lessening  with  the  passage  of  time  amid  new  scenes,  particularly 
since  the  death  of  Alexis.  She  relinquished  all  thought  of  re-estab- 
lishing her  relationships  abroad,  though  her  husband  held  a  secret 
fear  that  their  method  of  life,  so  often  sordid  in  its  routine,  would 
later  weigh  upon  her.  Accustomed  to  glamorous  courts  all  her 
days,  still  young  and  radiantly  beautiful,  he  knew  she  was  un- 
worthily set  in  the  rambling  town  amid  savages  and  a  slow-develop- 

42 


ing  civilization.  He  could  not  accustom  himself  to  her  lack  of 
coquetry  and  the  fact  that  she  desired  tribute  from  one  alone 
who  comprised  her  world.  The  death  of  Ilyukha  whom  she  still 
deigned  to  call  Father,  was  a  fresh  grief  to  her  devoted  heart 
and  she  laid  him  away  with  all  the  honors  possible  to  the  crude  little 
church  of  St.  Louis  and  holding  him  ever  in  her  prayers  and  esteem. 
He  had  followed  her  over  more  than  half  the  globe,  serving  her  in 
many  capacities  and  she  missed  him  sorely.  The  foreign  mail  was 
a  source  of  eager  interest  to  the  distinguished  emigre  and  the 
Gazette  de  France  was  devoured  for  news  of  her  sisters  and  her  own 
children.  Charlotte  soon  found  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of 
those  ministrations  which  were  inevitable  to  her,  and  early  began  to 
train  her  daughter's  mind  in  channels  of  charity.  She  ordered  from 
France  six  dozen  crucifixes,  translations  of  the  Gospels  in  the 
Indian  language,  many  rosaries  for  gifts  to  her  friends  the  savages, 
who  in  turn  brought  her  fish  and  maize  and  their  mute  loving.  She 
supplied  the  rude  little  church  St.  Louis  with  a  chalice,  its  priest 
with  vestments;  and  for  the  Indian  women  and  their  slaves  who 
gave  her  their  tribute  as  to  an  angel,  yellow,  red  and  blue  hand- 
kerchiefs of  Madras  and  trinkets  for  their  adornment.  So  life 
passed  slowly,  but  full  of  tasks,  on  the  bank  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
Charlotte  hoped  it  would  continue  so  that  her  husband  and  her  child 
would  always  hold  the  sum  of  her  demand  on  her  Maker. 

X. 

But  events  are  made  for  those  born  to  crowns,  and  seldom  may 
they  avoid  them.  Several  years  later  the  Chevalier  was  taken  ill 
and  surgical  aid  was  advised  by  the  doctor  of  the  colony,  Jallot, 
whose  hand  had  too  often  met  the  friendly  palm  of  his  patient  to 
dare  the  delicate  task.  In  those  days,  in  this  colony,  it  was  only 
natural  that  France  was  the  destination  of  her  subjects  who  denied 
themselves  the  advantages  of  an  old  civilization  to  brave  the  ad- 
versities of  colonization  far  overseas.  D'Aubant  sold  his  plantation 
at  a  loss,  and  took  ship  for  Le  Havre  on  one  of  those  irregular 
packets  which  brought  news  and  supplies.  Arrived  in  Paris  he 
underwent  an  operation,  tended  devotionally  by  his  Charlotte. 
After  several  weeks  of  immurement  at  his  bedside,  d'Aubant  urged 
his  wife  to  leave  their  lodgings  for  a  breath  of  air,  which  she  at  first 

43 


refused  to  do,  with  kisses  reminding  him  that  this  was  her  first  dis- 
obedience. Always  considerate,  d'Aubant  pleaded  on  behalf  of 
their  daughter,  now  a  charming  fillette,  inheriting  the  beauty  of  her 
mother  but  a  frailer  constitution.  Charlotte  saw  through  the  ruse 
but  it  served  to  make  clearer  her  maternal  duty  and  she  rose  and 
prepared  herself  for  a  walk  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries.  His 
convalescence  was  assured  and  she  acknowledged  that  a  brisk 
promenade  would  serve  to  fortify  her  for  future  nursing  in  the  weeks 
to  come.  The  two  fair  women,  arm-in-arm,  passed  down  the  allees, 
pausing  now  and  then  to  admire  one  of  Nature's  beauties,  speaking 
German  to  insulate  themselves  from  passers-by.  They  expressed 
the  joy  in  their  hearts  that  the  adored  husband  and  father  was 
gaining  his  strength  and  would  soon  be  strong  enough  to  take  pas- 
sage again  for  the  Louisiana  both  loved  and  where  Charlotte  was 
so  sorely  needed  for  her  advices  and  ministrations  among  the  Indians 
and  slaves.  As  they  walked,  laughing  happily  in  an  unusual  re- 
straint, a  gentleman  passed  them  and  was  aroused  to  quick  con- 
templation of  their  beauty.  That  they  spoke  German  was  another 
reason  for  interest.  He  wheeled  about  and  followed  them,  noting 
the  mature  perfection  of  the  mother  and  the  budding  allure  of  the 
girl.  He  approached  and  uncovered. 

"Your  Highness  has  given  me  a  great  surprise,"  he  said. 

Charlotte  pressed  back  her  daughter  and  took  a  step  toward 
the  speaker.  Until  that  moment  the  girl  had  never  known  her 
mother's  title  and  she  believed  the  gentleman  mistaken. 

'Monsieur  le  Marechal  de  Saxe!"     Charlotte  exclaimed. 

"Your  Majesty  flatters  me  with  her  remembrance",  replied 
the  Marechal. 

"If  there  had  been  born  to  earth  a  beauty  equal  to  Your 
Majesty's  I  should  probably  have  passed  you  just  now,  with  no 
more  than  a  thought.  But  as  a  soldier  and  no  flatterer  I  may  as- 
sure Madame  that  having  enjoyed  her  vision  at  Court  I  could  never 
forget  her.  Pardon  me  if  I  confess  that  I  had  imagined  you  dead 
these  many  years."  He  smiled  and  his  eyes  narrowed.  "Most 
certainly  history  has  gathered  you  to  the  dead  Muscovites,  few  of 
whom,  I  believe,  rise  for  regeneration.  You  are  not  a  ghost, 
Madame?" 

Charlotte  was  chilled  and  weakened  by  this  encounter  but 
her  poise  did  not  fail  her. 

44 


"Tell  me  first  of  your  mother,  my  dearest  friend,"  she  began, 
and  then  gave  him  clue  of  that  mother's  agency  in  her  own  release. 
She  implored  him  with  dignity  and  yet  with  urgence  to  keep  her 
secret.  At  mention  of  his  mother  the  Marechal  flushed  with 
pride  and  reverence  but  Charlotte's  request  met  with  cold  response. 
The  Count  de  Saxe  would  not  dissimulate  his  intention  to  state  the 
present  circumstance  to  the  King  of  France  though  he  pledged 
secrecy  in  regard  to  the  world  in  general.  The  Princess  begged 
him  the  grace  not  to  mention  the  matter  to  Louis  for  three  months 
and  to  this  the  Count  consented,  at  the  same  time  asking  permission 
to  visit  herself  and  d'Aubant.  Charlotte  granted  this  favor,  stip- 
ulating that  he  come  only  at  night  and  without  witnesses. 

Shaken  from  the  interview,  there  was  no  further  joy  in  the 
promenade  and  Charlotte  remained  only  long  enough  to  pick  up  the 
threads  of  her  history  and  weave  them  into  a  tale  fit  for  her 
daughter's  ear.  When  they  returned  to  their  shabby  lodgings  she 
dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak  at  once  of  the  encounter  lest  her  own 
alarm  further  the  disquiet  the  invalid. 

D'Aubant  was  sitting  up,  covering  a  page  with  numerals,  when 
the  pair  entered.  "Come,  Beloved,  let  me  prove  to  you  a  sorrowful 
fact,  that  we  must  soon  concern  ourselves  with  the  means  for  living. 
My  illness  has  cost  us  practically  all  our  resources.  I  must  indulge 
this  malady  no  longer  but  seek  employment  and  take  whatever  is 
offered.  It  is  better  to  quit  Paris  where  you  are  like  to  be  recog- 
nized— but  what  has  shocked  the  rose  in  your  cheek  ?  My  Charlotte 
is  not  herself!" 

The  adventure  of  the  morning  was  disclosed  and  the  Chevalier 
sat  long  in  review  of  their  exigencies  without  comment.  He  had 
always  feared  this  in  returning  to  Paris  and  not  only  because  their 
funds  were  low  had  he  chosen  lodgings  in  this  quiet  quarter.  On 
that  very  evening  the  Count  de  Saxe  called  and  his  manner  at 
once  set  immediate  fears  at  rest.  He  was  courtly,  kind,  unforgetful 
of  the  consideration  due  so  great  a  lady  who  was  now  revealed  to 
him  as  a  true  woman,  a  noble  and  sacrificial  and  loving  mother. 
Maurice,  Count  de  Saxe  and  Marshal  of  France,  the  natural 
son  of  the  Elector  of  Saxony  and  King  of  Poland,  Augustus  the 
Second  and  the  Countess  of  Kb'nigsberg,  had  learned  the  art 
of  war  from  the  age  of  twelve  under  Prince  Eugene  and  showed 
his  courage  first  at  the  siege  of  Belgrade.  He  entered  the  service 

45 


of  France  in  1 720,  but  soon  afterwards  wandered  to  Courland, 
where  under  the  protection  of  the  Dowager  Duchess  Anna  Ivanova 
he  was  elected  Duke.  The  Empress  Catherine  would  not  counte- 
nance his  move,  however,  and  he  returned,  not  unwillingly,  to 
France  where  he  continued  to  serve.  It  was  after  distinguishing 
himself  in  the  campaigns  of  1  733-34-35  that  his  genius  endeared 
him  to  the  French  and  there  was  perfect  acclaim  when  he  was 
named  Marshal  in  1  743.  Louis  XV  bestowed  upon  him  the  do- 
main of  Chambord  and  a  revenue  of  40,000  francs. 

It  was  this  famous  visitor  who  sought  entrance  at  the  shabby 
apartments  of  d'Aubant  and  who  accorded  its  occupants  the 
obeisance  of  royalty.  He  was  growing  mature  superbly,  his  giant 
strength  still  challenging  the  regard  of  such  as  met  him;  it  was  true 
of  the  Count  that  he  could  break  a  six-franc  piece  into  bits  with  his 
unprotected  fingers! 

He  was  disposed  to  the  greatest  friendliness  toward  the 
fugitive  lovers  but  his  affiliation  with  the  government  and  the  King 
was  too  secure  to  dim  with  even  a  suggested  disloyalty.  Statesman 
and  soldier,  he  dared  not  prospect  upon  the  international  entangle- 
ment that  might  ensue  were  it  proved  that  Charlotte  were  presently 
harbored  in  France  and  long  had  been  in  one  of  the  French  colonies. 
He  was  reasonable  but  severely  determined  and  regretted  his  con- 
sent to  grant  the  three  months'  concession  asked  by  Charlotte. 

There  are  rumors  that  whisper  still  that  the  Marshal  loved 
Charlotte,  which  might  account  for  the  unyieldingness  of  his  at- 
titude and  also  for  the  accordance  of  three  months'  grace. 

Certain  it  is  that  he  visited  the  d'Aubant  lodgings  frequently 
and  alone  but  Charlotte's  appeals  were  made  only  in  the  presence 
of  her  husband. 

Love  was  almost  inevitable  since  her  charm  only  increased 
with  years  and  she  was  still  in  her  mid-thirties,  her  health  un- 
diminished  and  all  her  miseries  had  not  had  the  power  to  acerbate 
her  radiant  nature. 

When  d'Aubant  was  able  to  leave  his  lodgings  he  solicited 
and  obtained  from  the  French  East  Indian  Company  the  office  of 
major  of  the  Island  of  Bourbon,  his  brave  record  being  well  known 
to  the  War  Bureau.  Cautiously  preparations  were  advanced,  not 

46 


even  Aenchen  knowing  the  plans  but  mutely  coinciding  with  the 
activities  of  the  little  household. 

XL 

The  three  months  had  passed  and  true  to  his  pledge  the  Count 
de  Saxe  strode  to  the  d'Aubant  domicile  to  make  acquitment  of  his 
promise  before  speaking  to  the  King.  He  was  astonished  to  learn 
that  Madame  d'Aubant  had  already  departed,  with  her  husband, 
daughter  and  servant  for  the  East  Indies,  a  summary  of  facts  which 
the  Count  hastened,  with  apologies  for  his  weakness  in  consenting 
to  the  pact,  to  relate  to  his  Majesty.  All  dread  of  the  effect  of 
this  news  vanished  when  the  King  sent  for  his  Minister,  making  the 
facts  clear  and  commanding  him  to  instruct  M.  de  la  Bourdonnais, 
governor-general  of  the  Isles  of  France  and  Bourbon  (1739)  to 
greet  Madame  d'Aubant  with  the  most  distinguished  respect.  In 
the  same  hour  Louis  indited  a  letter  with  his  own  hand  to  the  Queen 
of  Hungary  with  whom,  notwithstanding,  he  was  in  state  of  war,  to 
give  her  the  tidings.  It  is  a  matter  for  admiration  that  the  young 
queen  wrote  to  Louis  with  her  fulsome  thanks  for  his  information, 
enclosing  a  letter  to  be  forwarded  to  her  aunt  in  which  she  urged 
her  to  return  to  her  family,  and  above  all  to  abide  with  herself, 
Upon  receipt  of  this  communication  Charlotte  experienced  a  long- 
ing for  her  family  which  she  had  quelled  through  years  of  exile 
and  self-immolation  so  that  she  paused  in  her  reading  and  sent  her 
passionate  heart  outward  to  her  kinsmen  of  whose  contact  she  had 
been  so  long  deprived.  But  upon  resuming  the  letter  she  learned 
that  the  Queen,  her  niece,  counseled  her  to  abandon  her  husband 
and  daughter  for  whom  the  King  of  France  had  advised  her  he 
would  provide. 

Charlotte  did  not  hesitate  in  her  reply,  refusing  to  comply  with 
a  disloyalty  which  would  mean  mere  recognition  of  her  past  hated 
honors  and  violence  to  a  bond  indissoluble  by  Death. 

The  Governor-General  of  Bourbon  was  wise  and  good  and 
his  colony  at  Andre  called  daily  blessings  upon  him  and  on  their 
own  account,  before  the  command  of  the  King,  (arrived  on  a  sub- 
sequent ship),  he  took  the  weary  voyagers  into  his  heart  and  con- 
fidence. The  beauty  of  Charlotte  startled  him  and  her  character 
gradually  revealed  itself  to  intensify  his  admiration.  She  succored 

47 


the  slaves,  who  reverently  termed  her  "Mother,"  going  about 
among  their  frail  cabins  with  the  comfort  of  her  words,  the  inspira- 
tion of  religion  and  substantial  relief  for  their  distresses.  In  her  social 
hours  she  sang  the  songs  of  the  Louisiana  plantations  with  quaint 
mimicry,  and  the  volks-lieder  of  her  own  people  of  Brunswick- 
Wolfenbiittel.  Her  spirits,  whether  still  ebullient  or  affected  to 
beguile  her  husband  and  the  scant  associates  of  the  remote  Island, 
were  unfailing  and  her  youth  revived  in  demesnes  of  peace  which 
was  Charlotte's  only  request  of  Heaven.  She  grew  to  love  the  spicy 
groves  and  orange-blossoms  of  the  Isle,  living  much  out-of-doors 
for  the  sake  of  her  delicate  daughter  whose  frailty  seemed  to  have 
been  the  accumulation  of  the  mother's  years  of  physical  torture  and 
mental  agony.  The  blacks  worshipped  the  great  lady  and  helped 
her  in  their  humble  way  to  pass  many  hours  in  serenity. 

D'Aubant  was  now  risen  to  the  position  of  sub-Governor  and 
certain  offices  fell  to  her  lot  which  revived  the  rumor  that  she  had 
been  born  in  a  palace.  She  embraced  every  opportunity  to  lighten 
the  labors  of  her  husband  and  to  stimulate  the  flagging  energies  of 
her  precious  child  who  grew  more  and  more  into  the  semblance  of 
an  angel  of  the  artist's  ideal. 

A  wooer  appeared  for  Christina's  hand,  the  Chevalier  Raoul 
de  la  Croix;  a  youth  of  personality,  courage  and  excellent  address. 
His  heart  ran  to  the  feet  of  the  beautiful  young  girl  who,  without 
coquetry,  and  with  the  frankness  of  her  noble  mother,  gave  it  niche  in 
her  tender  and  faithful  breast.  Reflecting  the  maternal  piety,  the 
girl  was  much  concerned  in  the  conversion  of  Ontara,  a  leader 
among  the  Indians  of  the  Island,  and  to  this  end  and  with,  Char- 
lotte's assistance,  labored  devotedly.  To  the  joy  of  the  zealots 
Ontara  became  a  priest,  giving  his  life  to  the  salvation  of  his  own 
people. 

A  cloud  rose  upon  the  governmental  group  at  Andre  when  M. 
de  la  Bourdonnais  was  recalled  to  France  in  1  748  to  answer  in 
person  the  accusations  of  Dupleix,  Governor  of  Pondicherry,  and 
other  enemies  whom  he  had  excited  against  the  Governor-General. 
The  excellent  de  la  Bourdonnais  was  confined  in  the  Bastile  with- 
out a  hearing,  languishing  hopelessly  in  his  inability  to  voice  his 
wrongs. 

His  innocence  was  admitted  after  several  years  of  useless  im- 
molation and  he  was  set  at  liberty  in  1  752.  His  health  broken  and 

48 


morale  weakened,  his  fortunes  reduced  to  nothing,  he  died  in  1  755 
after  a  painful  invalidism.  The  d'Aubants  never  saw  him  after  he 
left  the  Isle  of  Bourbon.  Following  upon  this  calamity,  over  which 
the  d'Aubant  family  were  heart-stricken,  a  more  terrible  event  stole 
peace  from  the  island-haven.  The  saintly  daughter  suffered  a  de- 
cline which  lifted  her  soul  beyond  the  cares  of  earth,  and  this  upon 
the  brink  of  the  new  life  opening  to  her  with  the  Chevalier  de  la 
Croix. 

The  grief  on  the  Island  was  wide-spread  and  deep  and  it  was 
only  by  the  practice  of  every  function  of  her  faith  that  Charlotte 
rallied  to  the  comfort  of  Henri  whose  grief  was  extreme.  The 
exiles  like  themselves  scarcely  dared  speak  of  the  common  bereave- 
ment, thus  helping  the  parents  to  guard  their  forces  and  keep  strong 
for  one  another;  but  the  slave- folk,  the  newly  redeemed  Indian  in- 
habitants, knew  grief  only  to  give  its  exponent,  and  for  months  be- 
wailed the  loss  of  the  fair  girl.  De  la  Croix  could  no  longer  bear 
the  uneventfulness  of  the  colony  life,  and  pressing  Charlotte  to  his 
heart  dashed  away  upon  the  first  ship  which  came  to  port  to  throw 
away  his  life  in  wars. 

Fate  held  out  one  more  tragedy  for  the  fortitude  of  Charlotte 
but  she  had  been  prepared  for  it  by  the  consecration  which  seemed 
to  translate  her  into  other  spheres  than  those  beneath  her. 

In  the  year  1  754,  when  her  worshipped  Henri  closed  his  eyes 
she  reconciled  his  loss  remembering  that  God  had  been  good  in 
giving  him  to  her  for  thirty  years,  which,  despite  jeopardy  and  de- 
fencelessness  of  position,  hardship,  sickness,  poverty  and  the  loss  of 
their  children,  had  been  more  replete  with  love's  glamor  and  delight 
than  fall  to  the  lot  of  many  lovers. 

Charlotte  was  fifty-nine  years  of  age,  still  slender  and  straight 
and  marvelously  beautiful,  when  she  sailed  from  the  Isle  of  Bour- 
bon for  France,  alone  and  without  means  of  subsistence.  She 
sought  the  humble  lodgings  in  Paris  in  which  she  had  spent  anxious 
months  with  her  loved  ones,  but  later  drifted  to  Montmartre  where 
she  was  still  living  in  1  760. 

It  is  not  known  why  the  princess  repaired  to  Brussels  later; 
perhaps  retiracy  was  more  possible  there  and  neither  she  nor  her 
father's  family  ever  felt  that  she  was  secure  from  international  con- 
cern. The  House  of  Brunswick  yielded  her  an  annuity  of  sixty- 
thousand  florins,  three-fourths  of  which  were  devoted  to  benovelent 

49 


deeds.  She  occupied  herself  with  the  observances  of  religion  and 
charities,  limited  only  by  the  resources  of  her  purse,  and  there  in  the 
rue  du  Pare,  near  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Gudule,  she  lived  many 
years  without  connections,  seeking  out  those  in  misery,  preparing 
food  with  her  own  worn  hands  and  holding  before  dying  eyes  the 
sacrifice  upon  the  Cross.  Known  as  Madame  d'Aubant  she  died 
in  extreme  old  age,  her  vigorous  constitution  unimpaired,  and  one 
night  simply  ceasing  to  be,  the  dawn  and  earliest  Mass  calling  in 
vain  for  her  regular  devotions.  She  had  died  happily,  for  she 
smiled,  and  Love  brooded  over  her  features,  scarcely  marred  by 
the  iron  tread  of  events;  Love  that  was  not  mere  passion  for 
husband  nor  adoration  of  children ;  certainly  not  love  of  Courts  and 
ermined  majesty — but  love  of  God  and  of  His  erring,  ignorant, 
helpless  children  in  many  climes  and  conditions  for  whom  scorn  was 
not  in  her  gentle  heart. 

This  is  the  tale  that  is,  told  by  the  old  brown  nurses  in  their 
patois,  on  Bayou  St.  John.  New  Orleans  Creole  children  are  taught 
to  revere  the  ancient  oak  whose  anchors  are  slipping  from  former 
high  ground  into  the  murky  waters.  Some  narrators  recount  the 
legend  of  the  tree  as  having  been  planted  by  Charlotte's  own  hand 
as  a  memorial  of  their  meeting;  it  is  also  said  that  the  Chevalier 
d'Aubant  planted  another  oak  nearby  which  rotted  away  when  his 
breath  was  stilled  on  the  far-away  Isle  of  Bourbon,  but  it  is  just 
as  probable  that  it  was  under  the  full-grown  tree  that  the  leal  lover 
set  his  shrine.  Each  Spring  revives  the  old  bole  from  which  spurt 
ambitious  boughs  never  again  to  attain  the  soaring  height  of 
yore.  There  is  no  grace  to  it  save  the  grace!  of  pity  the  beholder 
bestows  upon  its  aborted  majesty,  but  long  may  nature  quicken  it 
with  vernal  promise  to  prompt  the  telling  of  the  story  of  Charlotte, 
— "The  Russian  princess  who  met  her  lover  there" — a  tale  which 
connects  New  Orleans  by  the  filmy  veil  of  romance  with  the  history 
of  the  world. 


50 


THE  HOUSE  OF  TRAGIC  MYSTERY 


53 


Brother  §f  the  Sultan 


Common  preface  to  a  Kurdish  story:  "Once,  and 
more  than  once,  let  us  pray  Allah  that  His  mercy  be 
on  our  fathers  and  on  our  mothers  who  hear  us!" 

N  the  blaze  of  an  April  noon  the  levee  before  New  Orleans 
danced  colorfully  as  through  a  prism.  An  erratic  line  of 
sedulous  ants  portered  sacks,  bales  and  boxes  on  broad, 
naked  shoulders  from  the  land-rim  to  the  waiting  barges. 
An  overseer,  leather-colored,  proved  his  Caucasian  supremacy  by 
his  authoritative  commands  and  the  masterful  swing  of  a  lash.  The 
plodding  human  chain  quickened  at  the  urge  of  the  voice — exple- 
tives, blasphemies,  round  curses,  stoked  lagging  energies,  while  the 
whirr  of  the  whip  occasioned  good-natured  prancing. 

"Hold  up,  Boss,  Ah'm  dar  a'ready don't  hit  me,  Boss 

fo'  Gawd  Ah'm  mos'  burnt  out!    Hit  Tecumseh,  Boss,  he's 

layin'  down "  and  a  throaty  laugh  accompanied  a  skip  out  of 

the  thong's  radius. 

The  mate  snapped  at  the  air  in  testimony  of  his  danger,  dex- 
trously  cutting  at  the  ankles  of  the  next  laggard.  The  upward 
glancing  of  the  sun  from  the  swarthy  river  made  his  eyes  wince  into 
beady  centres  of  rutty  rays.  He  was  an  American,  not  irascible  by 
temperament,  but  as  love  is  the  intercourse  between  men  and 
women,  so  are  curses  the  medium  of  master  and  slave  and  he  was 
presently  conforming  to  the  etiquette  of  his  office  in  his  technicali- 
ties. He  snarled  and  jocosed  alternately,  driving  with  a  hard  bit  in 
the  manner  mules  and  negroes  must  be  handled  for  the  expediency 
of  their  common  economy.  The  stevedores  even  sang  as  they  dron- 
ed under  the  very  nose  of  the  mate;  a  song  of  labor  in  melancholy 
monotone  to  which  bare  feet  pattered  rhythm.  The  mate  did  not 

55 


forbid  or  discountenance.  He  did  not  listen,  the  croon  meaning  to 
him  an  auxiliary  to  coalesce  effort,  concertizing  of  the  body-spirit. 

The  toilers  were  not  really  afraid  of  their  driver:  they  even 
liked  him  and  felt  no  resentment  against  his  attitude  of  bluster  and 
unappealable  injustice  at  descent  of  the  lash.  The  negroid  scent 
exuded  from  ragged  flannel  and  bodies  of  strained  lustihood,  as  the 
unvarying  line  advanced  and  returned  over  the  gang-plank  drip- 
ping sweat  at  every  step.  White  teeth  broke  through  thick  lips 
parting  over  each  effort  of  disburdenment,  then  invariably  a  laugh 
or  jest  relieved  the  stress  of  dead-lifts.  Men  and  mules  worked  on 
the  same  unwearying  plane,  without  subjective  planning  or  responsi- 
bility but  under  the  instant's  prod.  And  they  were  not  unhappy. 

There  were  no  wharves  at  that  remote  day  and  vessels  of  all 
kinds  closed  up  upon  the  levee  as  near  as  their  draught  of  water 
would  permit,  clustered  in  tiers,  all  having  stages  to  the  shore,  the 
outer  tiers  taking  in  their  cargoes  across  those  that  were  within. 
There  were  upriver  steamboats,  a  long  range  of  Kentucky  keel 
and  flatboats,  used  variously  as  freighters,  hucksters'  shops,  coopers' 
shops,  dwellings  and  pigpens. 

Silent,  as  if  the  huge  current  had  been  heavy  oil,  the  Miss- 
issippi coursed  to  the  Gulf,  turgid,  yellow,  dangerously  dominant. 
It  swept  the  sun-calcined  levee  shells  and  hard,  square-edge  flooring, 
throwing  back  a  reek  of  estival  moisture  to  intensify  the  languor  of 
the  noon. 

The  mate  held  his  red  handkerchief  in  the  faint  breeze  to  dry 
but  instantly  it  dropped  to  his  side  limply  as  he  gazed  down  the  river 
at  the  strange  ship  that  was  slow-pacing  into  port.  It's  flag  was  not 
yet  discernible  and  the  vessel's  silhouette  was  unfamiliar  even  to  the 
river-wise  eyes  of  a  steamboatman.  His  interest  in  his  men  slacken- 
ed the  nervous  urge;  the  negroes'  efforts  at  once  slowed  into 
drudgery  and  diminished  effectiveness.  The  American  squinted 
and  turned  squarely  to  face  the  approaching  merchantman.  The 
British  flag  had  not  been  seen  on  the  river  for  months,  few  trading- 
ships  came  now  from  Bordeaux,  Marseilles  and  Nantes.  This 
was  none  of  the  more  frequent  vessels  from  the  Island  of  Hispanola 
nor  yet  from  Martinique. 

Soon  a  Crescented  pennant  pricked  foreign  color  into  the  tired 
landscape,  magnetizing  the  loafers  under  the  levee  sheds  who  rub- 
bed their  eyes  to  look  again  and  yet  again  at  the  stately  guest. 

56 


There  was  a  screech  from  a  tug  and  an  answering  boom  from 
the  Turkish  ship  which  came  steadily  on,  treading  the  water  cau- 
tiously as  if  its  assurance  strove  to  dissemble  its  certain  guilt. 

The  excitable  Spanish  and  French  inhabitants  passed  the  tid- 
ings quickly,  moving  toward  the  landing  for  which  the  merchant- 
man evidently  aimed,  all  business,  the  sweetness  of  mid-day  repose, 
forgotten  in  the  imminent  event.  Only  the  steady  lengths  of  negro 
stevedores  continued  action,  moving  slower  and  slower  released 
from  encouraging  lash  and  oath,  each  bent  like  an  Atlas,  bearing 
huge  burdens  which  did  not  prevent  curious  eyes,  upcast,  absorbing 
sections  of  the  changing  scene. 

Thus  unheralded  entered  the  Youssef  Bey  into  the  yellow 
Mississippi  and  before  the  squat,  gray  town  of  New  Orleans,  in  the 
Spring  of  the  year  Seventeen  Ninety-Two. 

Her  captain  looked  disdainfully  from  her  bridge  upon  the 
Spanish  city  lying  below  the  level  of  the  river  and  spat  his  scorn 
of  the  spires  of  the  venerable  Cathedral  of  Saint  Louis.  He  was  a 
seasoned  seaman,  this  Izzeddin,  a  hard,  even  a  cruel  man,  a  stern 
disciplinarian  as  befitted  one  in  mastery  of  antipathetic  assemblies 
of  crews:  Greeks  and  Kurds,  Albanians,  Rumanians,  Turks  and 
even  Russians.  He  had  now  in  hand  the  most  desperate  adventure 
of  his  seamanship,  involving  a  mighty  risk  and  an  adroit  polity. 
Captain  Izzeddin  set  his  lips  in  a  thin  line  and  spared  an  instant  for 
reflection.  He  had  sailed  from  Istambol  on  the  Sea  of  Marmora, 
from  the  Blue  Bosphorus  and  the  men  of  his  faith,  and  now  that  the 
voyage  was  over  he  admitted  a  declension  of  enthusiasm  for  strategy 
and  danger  and  only  a  disgust  for  the  Christian  city  to  which  he  was 
destined.  With  a  mighty  pull  he  recovered  his  stoicism  and  screamed 
his  orders  above  the  commotion  of  debarkation. 

The  Spanish  port-officer  was  received  with  almost  royal  con- 
sideration and  was  responsively  lubric  in  the  matter  of  passports. 

He  was  offered  strange  sweets  and  wines  in  a  manner  agree- 
able to  his  own  ethics  of  social  punctilio.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  con- 
siderable guest,  for  the  Turkish  merchantman  had  brought  from  the 
wealth  of  the  proud  citadel  of  Cairo :  from  Bagdad,  Kharput,  Bey- 
rut,  Constantinople,  a  cargo  of  metals  and  minerals;  dates  from 
Basra:  figs,  olives,  oranges,  cotton,  tobacco,  silk,  from  Anatolia. 
There  was  also  wine  from  Adrianople,  flavored  with  its  famed 

57 


roses;  attar  of  rose  as  well,  carpets  from  Smyrna,  prayer  rugs  with- 
out price,  and  much  opium. 

There  was  a  pause  after  this  recital  over  which  the  Captain 
Izzeddin  and  a  very  noble  gentleman,  Iskenden  Bey,  who  was  a 
high  functionary,  had  been  condescendingly  explicit.  The  most 
important  business  of  the  day  still  pended.  The  terrors  and  vex- 
ations of  the  voyage,  the  assembling  of  a  vast  cargo  of  treasures, 
diminished  in  import  before  the  question  asked  of  the  Spaniard  with 
hesitation  yet  in  a  driving  anxiety. 

It  was  Iskenden  Bey  who  spoke,  measuredly:  "We  seek",  he 
began,  exchanging  glances  with  the  several  officers  about  the  table, 
as  if  for  assurance  before  too  far  committing  himself,  "a  domicile 
for  one  of  our  number if  you  would  graciously  recom- 
mend   " 

"As  for  that,  we  have  several  hotels,  among  which  I  can 
advised  the  St.  Louis  and  Strangers',"  replied  the  Spaniard,  ruffled 
that  the  Turks  lacked  in  respect  for  the  accommodations  and  hos- 
pitalities of  his  city. 

There  was  considerable  pause,  during  which  looks  were  again 
transmitted  from  one  meaningful  eye  to  another. 

"A  hotel  would  not  be  convenient,"  averred  Captain  Izzeddin 
with  deliberation  and  a  bow  from  his  torso.  He  spoke  haltingly, 
as  if  his  excellent  French  were  not  fluent  and  that  he  sought  his 
words.  "A  particuliere  would  be  more  to  our  liking.  Could  you, 
perhaps,  without  too  much  derangement,  put  us  in  the  way  of  se- 
curing a  suitable  house " 

Jacinto  Estecheria,  the  harbor-master,  lighted  a  cigarette 
tendered  by  Iskenden  Bey.  Achmet,  a  servitor,  poured  from  a 
flagon  the  juices  of  an  Egyptian  vine.  The  Spaniard  responded  to 
the  soothing  conditions  of  his  entourage  and  essayed  advice. 

"Ah,  yes,  there  are  some  houses  to  be  leased,  of  course,"  he 
ventured.  "Is  it  a  cottage  you  desire,  for  temporary  shelter,  a  small 
furnished  house,  or  a  warehouse  for  your  goods ?" 

Captain  Izzeddin  scowled  darkly,  his  temper  being  easily 
kindled.  "Inshallah!  May  Allah  veil  your  short-comings!"  he 
flared.  An  advisory  look  from  Iskenden  Bey  brought  him  together 
again  and  he  spoke  with  more  control.  "It  must  be  a  dwelling, 
Sefior,  of  sufficient  comfort,  even  if  you  have  not  available  in  this 

58 


poor  city  one  of  adequate  dignity,  to  house — may  he  be  blest! — 
none  less  than  the  Brother  of  the  Sultan!" 

There  was  a  ripple  of  confusion  among  the  Mussulmen  fol- 
lowing this  bold  announcement.  It  had  not  been  timeous  and  each 
felt  that  words  had  been  epochal,  fraught  as  they  were  with  danger, 
yet  not  a  spokesman  present  but  would  have  yielded  to  the  passion 
to  set  right  the  officer  of  this  contemptible  port  to  the  risk  of  be- 
trayal of  a  sheltered  fact.  The  Spaniard  lifted  his  brows  and 
flushed.  Monarchy  was  in  his  strain — he  respected  the  institu- 
tion. He  rose  and  bowed  obsequiously. 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  direct  you  to  the  Cabildo  where  we  may 
take  the  matter  of  such  import  under  complete  advisement,"  he  an- 
swered, impressively.  "At  your  convenience " 

At  once  the  Spaniard's  mind  reverted  to  the  boast-place  of 
the  town — the  pretentious  home  of  Monsieur  Jean  Baptiste  Le 
Pretre,  influential  citizen  half  the  year,  banker  and  social  leader, 
and  for  the  other  half  planter  of  rice,  corn  and  tobacco  of  fertile 
Plaquemines  Parish.  His  estate  spread  broadly  away  from  the 
banks  of  the  Mississippi,  his  slaves  were  without  computing,  thriv- 
ing under  his  own  good  care  and  the  maternal  interest  of  a  wife 
famed  for  her  beauty,  her  sprightly  daughters  and  intrepid  sons. 
A  high  type  of  French  emigre,  royal  grants  and  a  masterful  control 
of  situations  and  men  alike,  had  earned  for  Monsieur  Le  Pretre 
among  the  colonists  wealth,  power  and  respect.  His  plantation 
home  was  nobly  columned,  set  in  a  formal  garden  which  occupied 
Madame  and  her  daughters  in  the  direction  of  several  slaves  each 
morning.  Otherwise,  they  read  the  French  poets,  the  fashion- 
journals  as  they  filtered  through  the  mails  from  Paris;  achieved 
much  petit  point  tapestry  and  nainsook  chemises  bemonogrammed 
and  beflowered  with  skilled  needles,  convent-trained.  They  sang 
the  songs  of  France  with  the  support  of  harp  and  piano  and  for 
exercise  rode  the  Kentucky  thoroughbreds  and  peppery,  startlish, 
Creole  ponies  with  which  the  Le  Pretre  stables  were  stocked. 
Through  June  and  to  the  end  of  November  this  life  of  elegance  and 
ease  was  enjoyed  and  then  ensued  the  quickening  of  the  family 
pulse  at  the  arrival  of  the  first  New  Orleans  newspaper,  "Le 
Moniteur  de  la  Louisiane,"  with  its  tidings  of  the  French  Opera 
troupe!  These  were  the  signal  for  last  preparations  for  the  winter's 
social  campaign.  Sentinel-slaves  were  stationed  at  the  levee-bank 

59 


in  relays,  to  keep  watch  for  the  French  vessel  which  would  bear 
the  troupe  overseas  to  furnish  the  first  excitement  and  most  intel- 
lectual pleasure  of  the  Creole  population. 

There  would  be  only  the  lids  of  the  trunks  to  close — oh,  so 
many  trunks,  with  the  harvest  of  velvets,  brocades,  gossamers  and 
rare  laces  in  costumes  that  blossomed  under  the  speedy  fingers  of  the 
demoiselles  and  their  corps  of  mulattresses,  all  clever  copyists  of  the 
Paris  ateliers.  There  must  be  haste  at  the  last,  of  course — could 
there  be  joy  without  it? — and  breathless  orders  to  house-servants 
repeated  again  and  again.  The  moment  the  vessel  was  sighted 
the  stir  increased  and  by  the  time  it  came  abreast  of  the  plantation 
a  salvo  of  fire  by  night  or  of  the  reports  of  arms  by  day,  gave  first 
welcome  to  the  journeying  artists.  Then  were  armoirs  locked, 
bureaus  cleared  of  their  intimate  necessities  and  mules  harnessed 
for  the  transportation  of  luggage  and  the  light-brown  house-serv- 
ants for  city-use.  Thus  was  the  up-stream  journey  begun,  by  steam- 
boat hailed  from  the  riverbank  after  days  of  waiting. 

There  would  be  but  a  week,  then,  for  the  raid  on  the  little 
French  shops  of  the  rue  Conde  and  the  rue  Royale,  before  the 
premiere  of  the  opera!  For  all  their  industry  there  was  so  much 
still  to  be  done  in  their  delightful,  useless  existence;  the  matching 
of  costumes  in  slippers,  gloves,  fans,  the  acquirement  of  the  latest 
turbans,  most  whimsical  combs,  filmiest  fichus.  The  great  house 
at  Orleans  and  Dauphine  streets  had  previously  been  made  ready 
for  the  reception  of  the  family,  their  free  woman  of  color,  Odile, 
always  preceding  this  annual  ponderous  vibration  between  planta- 
tion and  town.  The  glistering  rock-crystal  chandeliers  had  been 
taken  down  and  days  spent  in  polishing  their  prisms  and  setting  wax 
candles  in  their  sockets.  Monsieur's  office  in  the  basement,  termed 
his  bureau,  was  made  inviting  for  his  morning  duties,  the  high- 
walled,  forbidding,  therefore  enticing,  courtyard,  received  attention 
that  its  violet-borders  and  roses  might  give  their  best  blossoms  to 
the  merry  demoiselles.  In  the  grilled  basement,  even  with  the  level 
of  the  banquette  or  sidewalk — because  none  dared  to  dig  cellars 
by  reason  of  the  imminence  of  water  under  the  spongy  soil — there 
was  a  richly-stocked  wine  room  to  which  Odile  alone  carried  the 
key.  As  precious  to  the  taste  of  the  ladies  Le  Pretre,  was  the  chill 
cell  containing  a  long  bathtub  of  white  marble,  an  unusual  luxury 
in  the  colony,  the  use  of  which  being  occasion  for  a  rite  involving  a 

60 


bucket-corps  from  the  kitchen's  hot-water  tank.  The  play-room, 
for  billiards  and  cards,  was  a  wainscotted  square  occupying  the  bal- 
ancing half  of  the  basement. 

The  mansion  above  was  constructed  somewhat  in  the  manner 
of  a  Western-Europe  home,  its  high-flung  elevation  rising  pre- 
cipitously from  the  sidewalk,  palatial  in  dignity,  pompous  in  its 
superiority  over  all  its  neighbors.  The  enclosed  stairway  led  into 
a  vestibule  which  prepared  the  mind  for  the  internal  luxury  of  the 
home,  the  sumptousness  of  the  salons,  the  mural  ornamentation  of 
which  was  the  result  of  the  skill  and  genius  of  Halle,  Pierre,  Berain, 
come  from  France  for  this  commission.  The  parquet  was  mar- 
quetry of  the  odorous  woods  of  lime,  cedar  and  amaranth  and  was 
warmed  by  silken  rugs.  Huge  mirrors  alternated  panels  imprinted 
with  pale  jonquil  damask  touched  with  aurora  and  silver.  There 
were  several  specimens  of  metal  furniture;  console-tables  in  gilt- 
bronze,  pier-glasses  of  silver  gilt,  and  cabinets  of  or  moulu  inset 
with  porphyry,  veined  lapis  lazuli,  cornalines,  agate,  jasper  and 
delicate  miniatures,  tribute  to  the  goldsmithies  of  France.  Above 
were  mouldings  in  the  style  of  the  Regency,  decorative  motives  such 
as  maskfaced  mascarons,  cornucopiae  with  depending  garlands 
swagging  with  apples  and  pears  of  heavy  foilage,  cartouches  and 
lozenge-formed  imbrications  with  flowers,  palm-leaves  and  ovolos 
embossed  in  high  relief.  The  fire-screens  and  curtain-holders  were 
of  metal  or  crystal  in  which  porcelains  and  half-precious  stones  play- 
ed their  decorative  part.  In  the  bedrooms  the  furniture  was  lux- 
urious, there  being  chairs  of  the  type  of  the  fauteuil  en  confessional 
and  the  lit  de  repos,  tufted  in  taffetas  or  warm-toned  brocades  were 
auxiliary  to  the  sculptured  rosewood.  There  were  rare  prints  of 
Lebas,  Cars  and  Cochin  and  each  daughter  had  her  tiny  oratory 
with  cushioned  prie-dieu  dedicated  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  such 
saints  as  were  tutelary  by  virtue  of  baptismal  name,  for  the  Le 
Pretres  were  given  to  prayer  as  to  pleasure.  The  children's  rooms 
were  high  above  the  roof-tops,  and  were  simply  hung  in  chintz  of 
bright  colors  and  oval  plaques  setting  forth  familiar  religious  events 
— the  material  of  creamy  plastic  composition  in  the  relief  of  ebony 
frames. 

In  these  vast  rooms  met,  throughout  the  family's  winter 
residence,  so  soon  as  the  sarcenet  and  taffeta  slip-covers  were  re- 
moved from  their  rich  furnishments,  the  Colony's  flower  of  Spanish 

;  6i 


and  French  beauty  and  valor.  Laughter  chimed  over  the  orchestras 
that  frequently  combined  in  a  mellay  of  music  that  halted  the  step 
of  envious  passers.  Dancing,  cards,  dinner-parties, — there  was  no 
restraint  upon  their  number  and  lavishness.  On  three  evenings  a 
week  there  were  the  French  opera  performances — only  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Le  Pretre  and  the  elder  sons  were  attendants  at  the 
Sunday  bouffe  representations! — and  there  were  always  suppers 
afterward,  sparkled  with  champagne  and  Chablis.  There  were 
horseback  cavalcades  and  dejeuners  at  Spanish  Fort,  reunions  at 
other  houses  of  importance — the  Carnival !  And  with  the  advent  of 
Lent  preparations  to  return  to  the  plantation,  or,  if  it  had  been  a 
particularly  opulent  year  for  crops,  embarkation  by  the  entire  family, 
maids  and  nurses,  direct  from  New  Orleans  to  Le  Havre.  It  was 
a  life  of  little  effort  for  such  harvestings  of  plenty,  but  it  did  not  en- 
dure and  sorrow  was  the  keener  by  contrast  when  death  and  losses 
came.  The  mansion  is  standing  still,  bereft  of  its  jeweled  furnish- 
ings, no  longer  lunar  with  mirrors  and  marblesy  a  huge  shell  filled 
at  night  with  strange  roarings  and  mystery  and  encroaching  decay. 
You  may  see  it  today:  rising  on  the  uptown,  river  corner — outside 
of  New  Orleans  this  would  mean,  less  picturesquely,  the  northwest 
corner,  but  we  take  little  heed  of  the  compass  here — its  high  stilts 
giving  clearance  for  the  salons.  Its  second  story  of  fair  proportions 
were  the  chambers  of  Monsieur,  Madame,  and  the  coming-out 
daughters,  while  on  the  diminished  third  floor  of  the  children,  sons 
and  nurses,  the  architect  made  feasible  his  difficulty  by  a  compressed 
embellishment  of  iron  embroideries,  valances  of  delicate  wrought- 
iron  festooned  beneath  the  permanent  black  lace  of  the  balcony. 

In  the  dependance,  or  wing,  were  other  servants,  the  utilities; 
and  all,  from  salon  to  cook's  quarters,  were  gallooned  with  laces 
and  tassels  in  a  state  showing  solicitous  housekeeping.  Even 
among  the  slaves  the  rosy  light  of  many  a  veilleuse  on  tiny  altars 
tinged  the  scrupulous  white  of  beds  and  curtains,  showing  Madame's 
influence  over  Congo  superstitions. 

II. 

Iskenden  Bey  repaired  at  once  to  the  Cabildo  where  a  cabinet 
council  was  held  after  which,  in  turn,  influence  was  pressed  upon 
Monsieur  Le  Pretre  whose  house,  being  the  most  sumptuous  in  the 

62 


province,  was  therefore  most  fitting  for  the  residence  of  royalty. 
The  Le  Pretres  would  be  departing  from  the  city  soon  and  an  ad- 
vancement of  his  routine  might  not  too-seriously  discommode  them 
particularly  at  the  mention  of  the  enormous  rental  offered,  even 
that  being  subject  to  augmentation. 

Monsieur  Le  Pretre  consulted  his  wife,  Creole-wise,  both  de- 
ciding that  above  all  considerations  was  the  hospitality  due  so  ex- 
alted a  personage  during  his  provisional  alienation  from  his  Court. 
Arrangements  were  quickly  consummated,  rent-notes  deposited  that 
had  been  signed  by  Iskenden  Bey  and  approved,  after  narration,  by 
the  other  functionaries  of  the  ship.  The  friends  of  the  Le  Pretre 
family  were  informed.  There  would  be  no  more  receptions  in  the 
magnificent  salons  until  the  autumn,  no  convocations  of  the  Cap- 
tain-General, Don  Bernardo  de  Galvez,  son  of  a  viceroy,  himself 
a  viceroy:  Don  Manuel  Gayoso  de  Lemos;  of  the  alcades  of  the 
Cabildo,  St.  Denis  and  De  La  Chaise;  of  the  Governor,  the  Baron 
de  Carondelet  and  the  Ambassador  de  St.  Cyr;  of  the  Colonial 
Prefect  Laussat  or  of  the  Intendant,  Don  Ramon  de  Lopez  y 
Angullo ;  of  the  United  States  Consul  at  New  Orleans,  Mr.  Daniel 
Clark,  the  Marquis  de  Casa  Irujo  and  other  notables  of  the 
province.  The  social  aspects  and  politics  of  these  turbulent  times 
must  have  their  polite  yet  fruitful  consideration  elsewhere.  Louis- 
iana was  then  the  subject  of  treaty  between  Spain  and  France  and 
French  decrees  were  rescinded — such  as  the  forbidding  by  Louis  of 
any  grant  of  land  in  Louisiana  to  a  citizen  of  the  United  States — 
by  the  dominant  representatives  of  the  Court  of  Madrid.  Monsieur 
Le  Pretre  felt  that  he  was  performing  a  civic  service  in  yielding 
his  mansion  to  the  brother  of  the  Sultan.  The  duration  of  its  oc- 
cupancy was  not  fixed  nor  would  such  an  host  hasten  the  departure 
of  such  a  guest.  ( In  truth,  the  Le  Pretres  resumed  occupancy  of  the 
house  at  the  usual  afflux  of  French  artists  in  November  and  some 
years  later,  (April  8th.,  1833),  at  a  meeting  held  within  its  portals 
was  organized  the  Citizens'  Bank,  an  existent  institution.) 

Thus  it  came  about  that  in  the  grandiose  mansion  where 
Christian  piety  was  domiciled,  whence  conventional  young  women 
issued  for  daily  Mass  at  the  Cathedral  three  squares  away  in  direct 
view,  little  shrines  were  removed  and  benitiers  that  had  purified 
thoughts  for  holy  themes.  A  steamboat  bore  the  always  ex- 
pectant, always  happy  sons  and  daughters  to  the  plantation  with 

63 


their  horde  of  slaves,  the  most  zealous  care  of  the  daughters  being 
the  preservation  from  sunburn  of  their  creamy  skins.  What  had 
been  the  horror — or,  perhaps,  the  interest, — of  these  convent-bred 
damsels  to  learn  that  into  their  chaste  quarters,  converted  into  a 
haremlitf,  were  borne  palpitating  bundles,  which,  unrolled,  revealed 
lovely,  veiled  children  younger  than  themselves:  Nefysseh  of  Alex- 
andria; Mihrima  of  Stamboul;  Sitta  of  Aboukir;  Djumeila  of  the 
Nile  and,  fairest  among  them,  Butheita  the  daughter  of  the  Bed- 
ouins, raped  from  the  desert  for  a  Caliph's  beguilement.  These 
veiled  women  of  fourteen  or  sixteen,  were  not  convoyed  to  their 
alien  abode  till  the  third  day  of  tireless  transportation  of  bales  and 
boxes  from  the  quay  to  the  mansion.  The  Turkish  ship's  hardy 
crew  with  Solyman  and  Mahmoud,  trusty  officers  of  Iskenden  Bey, 
to  oversee,  were  porters  of  the  costly  cargo.  There  were  carpets 
from  Smyrna  and  Kuba,  buffalo  skins,  wrought  metals  for  furniture, 
filagreed  fine  as  honeycomb ;  gold,  copper,  silver,  cunningly  worked 
and  set  with  beryl,  sapphires,  lapis  lazuli  and  pearl  in  sockets  of 
gold,  as  also  chests  of  precious  stones.  The  hammals  or  carriers 
prepared  for  the  removal  of  the  still  more  priceless  treasures  of  the 
harem  with  lavish  procedure.  Damascene  rugs  were  spread  upon 
the  rough  boards  of  the  wharf  and  variegated  awnings  set  aslant  to 
billow  silken  grace  and  protect  from  view  the  sheeted  and  honeyed 
gazelles  of  the  Orient.  Opaquely  veiled  and  with  feet  encased  in 
high  wooden  pattens  inlaid  with  silver  and  ankles  bound  by  silken 
scarves,  the  little  playthings  were  lifted  by  the  hammals — not  in 
litters  draped  with  native  gauzes,  but  into  the  best  carriages  the 
town  afforded,  and  the  panes  swathed  with  iridescent  silks. 

When  this  apparition  had  passed  amid  cries  of  jest  and  as- 
tonishment from  curious  onlookers,  a  figure  poised  upon  the  deck, 
ready  for  departure,  wrapped,  despite  the  heat  in  a  havlu  or 
burnouse,  fringed  with  gold.  He  was  taller  than  the  men  of  his 
race  about  him,  his  features  milder,  less  accipitrine  of  nose.  His 
hair  glistened,  his  eye  was  keen  in  the  bald  glare  and  his  skin  was 
the  hue  of  a  burned  magnolia-petal.  His  hands  evinced  nervousness 
in  their  play  with  his  small  moustache.  He  scarcely  heeded  the 
reports  of  his  attendants,  his  glazed  eyes  pursuing  the  last  carriage  to 
depart  from  the  moorings  and  he  made  a  movement  to  follow  it, 
restraining  himself  with  effort.  It  was  the  carriage  that  had  borne 
away  the  Bedouin  Butheita.  Now  that  it  had  been  lost  to  view 

64 


in  the  maze  of  the  streets  he  gave  orders  to  expedite  his  own  de- 
barkation. In  the  sordid  dust  of  the  levee,  with  the  background  of 
the  provincial  town,  the  gorgeous  figure  seemed  to  have  been  strip- 
ped from  a  vivid  canvas. 

Thus  went  forth  to  meet  destiny  the  brother  of  the  High- 
Sultan. 

III. 

Far  from  mosques  of  Moslems  abode  this  colorful  group  of  Os- 
manli,  a  patch  of  the  East  set  in  the  oasis  of  New  Orleans,  an  agape- 
mone  clustered  almost  in  the  shadow  of  a  Cathedral  whose  intona- 
tions must  be  tolerated  and  replaced  mentally  by  the  muezzin-call. 
Cousrouf  Effendi  was  so  inherently  a  lover  of  beauty  that  he  gave 
himself  over  entirely  to  the  suitable  adaptation  of  the  Le  Pretre 
household  gods  to  an  abode  of  love.  Mats  on  the  parquetry  were 
strewn  with  Persian  rugs  and  upon  cushions  heavy  with  gold  em- 
broideries, eating  of  Turkish  dainties,  beguiling  memory  and  an- 
ticipation with  their  perfumed  cigarettes,  reclined  Nefysseh  and 
Mihrima;  Djumelia  and  Sitta  and  the  spoils  of  a  Bedouin  raid, 
Butheita:  enhanced  with  rosy  textiles  and  gems  that  once  had  be- 
decked the  daughters  of  the  Pharoahs.  He  directed  the  Nubian 
eunuchs  in  the  disposal  of  betasseled  shawls  and  himself  gave  the 
artist-twist  to  the  draperies  of  striped  silks  and  cotton  stuffs  from 
Gugerat  and  Constantinople.  In  a  few  days,  by  the  magic  of  many 
instant  hands,  the  brother  of  the  High-Sultan  was  fully  established, 
in  a  seraglio  on  cobblestones!  A  tiny  Osmanli  in  a  piously  dog- 
heretical  vicinage! 

The  economy  of  the  haremlify  was  fairly  orthodox,  though 
no  Imam  (priest)  was  comprised  in  the  royal  suite.  Golden 
censers  were  lighted  with  regularity  and  rich  flavors  of  cassia, 
spikenard,  camphire,  saffron,  bay  and  fir,  permeated  the  entire 
house  in  propitiation  of  the  good  Djins  and  in  exorcism  of  the 
Christian  saints. 

Daily  were  the  five  little  houris  lathered  with  honey  and 
various  aromatic  condiments  to  impart  to  them  strength  and  beauty, 
the  tedium  of  that  salutary  hour-long  rite  enlivened  by  conversation 
and  chanted  gazels.  Oil  of  myrrh  and  hyssop,  fragrant  sandal- 
oil  and  perfumed  ointments  were  applied  to  the  perfect  young 
bodies,  after  which  they  were  wound  in  fair  Egyptian  linens  for  ac- 

65 


cubation  or  repose.  No  Spanish  beauty  of  the  Colony  was  so 
guarded  nor  her  health  so  cossetted  nor  were  the  manners  of  the 
French  ladies  more  tempered  with  gentleness  and  patience. 

Here  whiled  away  his  days  Cousrouf  Effendi,  among  the 
pretty  children  who  played  not  with  toys  or  picture-books  but  with 
silver  jewel-boxes  and  mirrors,  at  coloring  their  lips  with  cochineal 
and  cheeks  with  spiced  cordials;  tinting  their  palms  with  henna  as 
also  the  nails  of  their  fragile  hands  and  feet.  Cousrouf  loved  the 
patter  of  their  small  red  velvet  shoes,'  the  lustre  of  their  chains  of 
priceless  pearls,  the  throb  of  topaz,  beryl  and  opal  in  the  buckles 
they  wore.  They  played  at  pretty  gambling  among  themselves, 
these  prisoners  of  love,  with  loose  turquoises,  garnets,  corals  and 
hyacinths,  winning  or  losing  indifferently,  since  they,  gems  and 
maidens,  belonged  but  to  one. 

The  formal  and  austere  etiquette  of  court  and  military  routine 
were  greatly  modified  by  the  Effendi  who  was  tranquillized  by  the 
novelty.  Iskenden  Bey,  chamberlain  or  castellan,  resided  on  the 
topmost  story  and  of  him  servants  asked  orders,  imposing  him 
between  the  Sultan's  brother  and  the  seamy  essentials  of  living. 
Mameluke  Bey  was  appointed  emissary  between  mansion  and  ship, 
reporting  for  the  desires  of  his  master  in  the  matter  of  food,  of 
pleasure,  and  always  there  were  couriers  plying  in  search  of  com- 
fort for  his  royal  Effendi :  Ibrahim  and  Toussoom,  Ismail  and  Has- 
san, Achmet  and  Amurath,  anticipated  their  master's  wants,  im- 
pressed with  their  honor  as  purveyors  to  the  sarechsme — the  honored 
one,  the  brother  of  the  High-Sultan! 

Even  the  cosmopolitan  little  city  was  aghast  at  the  free  ex- 
penditures of  the  juliks,  yirmileks  and  paras  from  the  Turkish  cof- 
fers— there  could  be  no  end  of  them  though  they  made  largesse  of 
jewels!  Only  the  choicest  foods  could  be  set  upon  the  table  of 
the  Effendi  and  of  those  who  served  Allah  in  serving  him. 

The  white  mansion,  always  a  center  of  keen  interest,  now 
became  the  object  of  universal  inquiry  throughout  the  city.  Every 
excuse  was  invented  to  pass  it  and  repass,  by  the  glimmer  of  lanterns 
by  night,  since  the  streets  were  not  otherwise  lighted,  and  despite  the 
glows  of  the  daily  suns.  None  was  rewarded  nor  was  anything 
reported  save  now  and  then  a  suspected  movement  behind  close 
blinds,  a  formless  movement  that  must  have  been  actuated  by  muf- 
fled houri  or  eunuch! 

66 


All  officers  and  servants  entered  and  departed  by  the  court- 
yard gate  and  even  these  were  objects  of  zealous  curiosity.  Rumors 
were  rife  concerning  the  household,  suppositions  were  constructed 
and  possible  costumes  detailed  by  the  temperamentalists.  Return- 
ing from  a  rout  a  band  of  youthful  pleasurers,  afoot,  guided  by  a 
slave  carrying  a  lantern,  saw  a  carriage  gallop  from  the  door,  the 
spirited  horses  slipping  cruelly  as  they  were  hurried  over  the  Belgian 
stones.  Were  the  houris  riding  out  for  air  while  all  the  town  slept? 
Unsaving  of  repose  the  group  set  themselves  the  task  of  awaiting  the 
return  of  the  carriage,  on  this  risk;  but  they  wearied  and  crept 
sullenly  home  unrewarded,  before  the  dawn.  So  the  house  of 
little  living  ghosts  sheltered  its  aliens  in  a  kind  of  happiness  which 
takes  no  account  of  the  future  and  strives  to  forget  the  past ;  and  the 
merry  but  sage  odalisques  made  no  revolt  in  their  immurement, 
looking  upward  to  the  stars  and  pressing  from  them  the  vulgar  and 
distracting,  the  glares  and  hurts  which  must  not  befall  those  elect 
for  the  pleasuring  of  a  brother  of  the  High-Sultan. 

IV. 

Of  an  evening  Cousrouf  lay  upon  a  couch  veiled  with  cash- 
mere and  a  prayer  Feraghan  amid  soft  cushions  of  tiftik  or  silk 
waste,  dreaming  of  the  pyramids  of  Gheezeh  and  thrilling  to  the 
memories  of  embattled  Damanhour.  Thus  he  revived  old  alliances 
which  he  had  sacrificed  forever  by  this  adventure:  Halim  Pasha 
whose  life  he  had  saved  on  the  shores  of  Praousta:  the  £/al?a  of 
the  viceroy,  whose  head  had  bended  with  his  own  over  the  philoso- 
phies of  Koran.  He  loved  his  Osmanli  and  mourned  that  Cavalla, 
Petresin,  Boulak,  the  vilayets  of  Syria,  would  never  again  fill  his 
ardent  gaze.  He  had  ever  been  feverish  for  action,  had  met  every 
combat  with  distinction :  but  statesmanship  had  wearied  him  and  the 
alternative  of  fighting  had  been  love,  such  love  as  had  now 
brought  him  to  a  strange,  prosaic  land  of  uncongenialities,  where 
all  of  Turkey  he  might  ever  know  again  lay  under  the  Sultan's 
standard  in  the  Mississippi  River! 

"By  the  great  prophet,  Mohammed whose  name  be 

glorified! 1  must  not  repine"!  cried  Cousrouf  aloud.  There 

was  movement  about  him  instantly,  a  subtile  approach  that  awaited 
possible  repulse,  the  while  proffering  surcease  from  chagrins,  com- 

67 


fort,  diversion.  But  only  the  soft  clash  of  gold  anklets  and  the 
rhythm  as  of  tiny  bells  broke  the  dense  peace.  Cousrouf  smiled 
upon  the  tender,  silken,  beguiling  creatures  and  gestured  his 
welcome. 

"My  gazelles,  my  white  doves,  you  are  as  figs  to  famished 
lips",  he  cried,  gratefully,  'as  a  goatskin  of  royal  wine  to  my  thirst. 
By  the  holy  temple  of  Mekka  you  are  empire  to  me;  all-sufficient. 
I  was  dreaming  of  olive  trees  and  sycamores,  and  the  tents  marging 
the  battlefield  ....  It  was  wrong,  for  heaven  is  truly  here.  Sing  to 
me,  Butheita,  Songbird!  fetch  your  instrument,  my  Rose  of  Para- 
dise!" 

The  desert-girl  flew  to  a  tabouret  where  reposed  her  zam- 
marah  bisoan,  a  goatskin  supplemented  by  a  little  bagpipe.  To  Oc- 
cidental ears  the  music  was  not  mellow,  but  rather  shrill  as  it  ca- 
denced  the  stances  of  the  girl's  own  gazels  and  startled  awake  the 
tremors  of  country-love  and  longing  which  had  disquieted  Cousrouf : 

"In  my  bare  tent  I  have  only  bread  for  my  man-love; 

But  if  he  love  me  he  will  eat  it  for  dates. 

So  does  Love  transform  ugliness  into  beauty, 

Sacrifice  into  delight. 

The  Ottoman  Empire  is  mightiest  of  all 

For  in  it  rules  Allah,  il  Allah! 

The  High-Sultan,  king  of  kings,  is  but  Allah's  foot-stool. 

In  my  bare  arms  there  are  hopes  for  my  man-love ; 

If  he  love  me  he  will  summon  embraces 

That  will  banish  his  sickness  for  home  and  friends 

And  weary  him  sweetly  through  ecstasy. 

Far  is  he  from  his  loyal  Osmanli 

But  Love  shares  exile  with  ermine 

As  with  beggars  who  beg  Love's  responses. 

Mirage  holds  its  prisms  to  my  man-love; 

The  wastes  of  the  desert ....  the  palms  .... 

The  loves  that  bring  warmth  ....  Great  is  High-Sultan 

The  swift  dromedary  at  tether  ....  but  not  there 

And  greater  is  Cousrouf  Effendi! 

For  in  a  new  land  has  he  empire — 

My  heart  is  his  ready  footstool." 

68 


His  eyes  swimming  with  tears  at  the  maiden's  improvisation, 
Cousrouf  beckoned.  She  rose  from  her  mass  of  pillows  and  as  she 
approached  there  was  audible  the  susurrance  of  faint  bells.  He 
took  her  hand  and  placed  her  on  the  couch  beside  him,  deftly  re- 
moving the  cuffei  from  her  hair. 

"Allah  Akbar!  I  swear  by  the  Mosque  of  the  Ommayedes. 
by  the  tomb  of  Saladin,  that  you  are  beloved  of  Cousrouf,  White 
Dove,"  cried  the  lover.  "I  cannot  compute  my  love  nor  can  you 
yours.  All  you  have  sung  is  true.  Allah — whose  name  be  glori- 
fied!— must  have  heed  of  such  mighty  emotions  as  ours,  love  for 
which  Cousrouf  ventured  all  and  reconciles  exile.  I  am  refreshed 
by  your  song  and  will  banish  aught  save  the  present  happiness." 

On  gold  dishes  with  turquoise,  garnets  and  chalcedony  inset, 
and  from  silver  vessels  the  brother  of  the  High-Sultan  dined  on 
strange  viands  of  mysterious  preparation ;  cheese  from  Basra,  sweets 
of  flowery  flavors.  That  most  patrician  blood  of  the  vine,  bottled 
in  gold  in  the  Orient  to  be  served  only  in  goblets  of  aureate  metal,  in 
curious  flagons  of  yellow  gold,  provided  warmth  to  the  entertain- 
ment, the  purpose  of  the  feast  veiled  in  the  glamors  of  occasional 
songs  and  the  narration  of  legends.  The  attars  of  a  thousand  roses 
were  released  in  the  vaulted  salons  and  soft  lights  spread  from  onyx 
lustres  and  sconces. 

Butheita  the  Bedouin  shared  the  divan  with  her  lord,  prof- 
fering cakes  and  pomegranate  wine  and  thick,  unsweetened  coffee, 
meek  but  alluring  with  her  confuting  looks,  yet  ever  yielding  her 
wild  spirit  submissive  to  his  passion. 

While  Djumeila  sang  a  Kurdish  mountain-song  Butheita  made 
bold  to  ask  her  lord  testimony  of  his  love  and  Cousrouf  swore  lealty 
with  the  triple  oath,  seizing  Butheita's  waist,  pressing  her  close. 
He  joyed  in  Djumeila,  she  of  the  Nile  and  Sitta  of  Aboukir;  Ne- 
fysseh  the  Alexandrian  and  Mihrima  of  Stamboul  but  a  tenderer 
emotion  answered  the  wild  daughter  of  the  Bedouin  chief;  the 
breath  of  siroccos,  Butheita,  his  spoil  of  battle  who  had  fought 
him  and  baffled  him  and  made  of  him  slave,  traitor,  expatriate. 

He  was  in  the  mood  for  largesse  and  rose  and  opened  one  of 
the  carved  chests  nearby,  one  containing  precious  stones  which  shot 
back  many-colored  fire  from  polished  facets  in  the  flare  of  gold- 
filagree  candlesticks.  With  a  gesture  Cousrouf  invited  acceptance 
of  the  treasures  revealed.  Jeweled  vessels  and  lamps  threw  color 

69 


into  the  soft  taper-light,  daring  to  suggest  meretriciousness — could 
there,  indeed,  be  so  many  gems  unmined  in  all  the  world?  The 
child-women  scarcely  stirred  at  the  sparkle;  they  had  been  inured 
to  the  touch  of  gold  at  their  lips,  the  contact  of  lustrous  pearls  upon 
their  bosoms,  of  imperial  emeralds  on  their  arms,  as  befitted  those 
sharing  the  love  of  the  mighty  one.  It  was  in  the  day's  routine  to 
hang  ropes  of  rubies  round  and  round  their  throats  in  complement  of 
raiment  of  flushed  Damascene  silks  and  buckles  of  diamonds  to 
clasp  their  veils.  They  did  not  contend  amongst  themselves  for 
possession  of  any  bauble,  for  the  jewels,  like  unto  Nefysseh,  and 
Sitta,  Djumeila  and  Mihrima,  belonged  all  to  their  lord  and  they 
sought  only  his  approval  and  composure.  And  so  solely  and  ar- 
dently they  loved,  each  would  have  drunk  from  a  crock  at  his 
instance  had  he  not  deemed  lips  that  drank  from  aught  save  golden 
goblets  unworthy  his  own. 

The  scene  was  one  of  surpassing  richness,  the  tasteful  French 
type  of  the  Le  Pretre  furnishments  supplemented  by  superb  rugs 
and  tapestries  upon  the  walls  while  costly  weaves  softened  the  foot's 
fall.  From  an  open  coffer  gleamed  sequins,  piastres,  medjidiehs, 
to  tease  miserliness  or  profligacy.  Neither  did  these  stir  the  Flowers 
of  Desire — their  ease  was  too  absolute,  their  peace  too  certain. 
Thus  does  the  Mussulman  equip  his  Paradise  and  make  hourly 
acknowledgment  therefor  to  Allah. 

V. 

The  tropical  serenity  of  this  interior  was  not  reflected  into  the 
cabin  of  the  Youssef  Bey  on  this  September  evening.  Iskenden 
Bey,  long  in  viceregal  service,  strode  the  confines  of  the  salon  in 
unrestrained  agitation  while  the  Captain,  Izzeddin,  watched  him 
like  a  predatory  animal,  his  eyes  sharp  and  narrow  above  his  eagle- 
nose.  The  passion  of  Iskenden  Bey  was  frank,  the  attitude  of  the 
Captain,  crafty.  There  was  manifestly  a  crisis  between  them  and 
each  willing  to  sacrifice  the  other  in  the  desperate  juncture. 
"Nothing  so  daring  as  this  has  been  attempted  since  Othman — 
May  Allah  save  him! — founded  the  Empire,"  shouted  Iskenden 
Bey,  arresting  his  pendulum-swing  to  and  fro  in  the  cabin-walls. 
"Must  the  dynasty  of  Selim  Third  be  so  dishonored?  There  is 

70 


no  reason  in  it!  It  is  not  ease  and  wealth  that  tempts  the  heroic 
soldier  such  as  Cousrouf." 

Captain  Izzeddin  chuckled  enviously.  "It  is  the  stupidity  of 
a  Kurd  to  believe  it,"  he  answered. 

Iskenden  Bey  strode  on,  talking  loudly,  angrily.  "Tonight  the 
Divan,  the  twelve  superior  ministers  of  the  Grand-Sultan,  are  con- 
vened. What  will  be  their  decree?  Allah,  il  Allah,  nothing  is 
terrible  when  you  are  near — it  is  the  u'nknown,  the  with-held,  the 
suspense,  the  possibility  of  anything  happening  which  makes  one 

welcome  the  alternative suicide.  But  I  will  not  invite  that 

exigency — yet  I  am  driven  mad  as  I  review  those  grim  pashas  sit- 
ting in  deadly  deliberation.  Do  you  not  see  what  is  passing  tonight 
at  Istamboul?  The  Grand  Vizier,  the  Sheik-ul-Islam  and  the 
council  of  ministers  who  adjudge  Cousrouf  Effendi,  who  hate 
me  and  who  would  make  garlands  of  our  heads  on  the  high- 
ways along  with  common  traitors!  The  face  of  Selim — on  whom 
be  peace! — is  terrible,  dark  with  rage  and  unaccomplished  revenge. 
What  will  not  the  long  arm  of  the  Sultan  do?  His  reach  is  to 
everness  and  the  warning  of  Gabriel.  Allah!  Do  you  not  realize 
the  magnitude  of  this  crime  that  you  sit  and  smile?  Plan  and  plot, 
fool,  or  you  soon  will  be  crow's  food.  Are  you  already  beyond 
the  power  to  feel?" 

The  eagle  eyes  narrowed.  "You  entered  fairly  into  the  pact 
with  His  Effendi",  answered  the  captain,  calmly  through  tense, 
purple  lips.  "Why  weaken  now?  You  might  have  anticipated 
this  outcome.  Cousrouf  is  not  so  unimportant  that  his  absence 
would  be  overlooked,  as  also  the  filching  of  the  millions  in  gems 
and  piastres.  Were  you  not  paid  enough  for  your  transfer  of 
loyalty?  I  am  a  seaman.  I  do  not  parry  sentiments.  As  well  as 

yourself  do  I  know  the  penalty  of  this  adventure if  "we  are 

overtaken.  This  is  not  the  hour  for  suspense  but  for  action." 

Iskenden  Bey  dropped  into  a  seat  across  the  table  and  looked 
fully  into  the  cunning  eyes  of  his  companion,  seeking  to  discern  his 
meaning,  not  daring  to  give  voice  to  his  own  half-formed  purpose. 

Captain  Izzeddin  did  not  wince,  but  shrugged  in  relief  of  the 
intense  feeling  within.  He  strove  to  treat  it  lightly.  "After  all, 
what  are  the  piastres  and  uncountable  treasure  of  jewels  to  so 
mighty  a  One  as  the  High-Sultan,"  he  essayed;  "he  would  never 
require  them,  though  I  will  admit  that  too  many  chests  were — 

71 


amerced,  we  will  say — though  the  Royal  Effendi  was  quite  justi- 
fied, while  the  matter  was  in  transaction,  in  making  the  rash  adven- 
ture really  startling.  There  must  be  many  millions  of  this  Spanish 
exchange  in  medjidiehs  alone;  and  the  serving-vessels,  rugs  from 
Ispahan,  Oushaks,  Kashans,  jewels — "  His  eyes  glittered  cruelly, 
prospectively. 

"They  are  as  nothing!"  broke  in  Iskenden  Bey.  "The  Grand- 
Sultan  would  condone  the  indign  theft  and  weep  as  Cousrouf  Pasha 
asked  forgiveness — if  you  can  picture  this  royal  rascal  in  a  broken 
spirit!  Man!  Are  you  a  Kurd  peasant  that  your  intelligence  does 
not  reckon  with  the  more  retributive  plundering  of  the  seraglio  of  the 
High-Sultan?"  Iskenden  Bey  brought  his  fist  upon  the  table,  set- 
ting the  bottles  and  glasses  into  a  clatter  with  his  fury.  The  Cap- 
tain Izzeddin  sat  up  stiffly  and  his  meaningless,  conformable  smile 
waned. 

"You  are  right,"  he  muttered,  and  looked  about  him  cautious- 
ly. "Only  Death  can  reprieve  such  apostasy.  Such  is  the  law  of 
Islam!"  Iskenden  Bey  was  somewhat  pacified  by  the  rising  spirit 
of  the  Captain  and  gave  it  further  pursuit. 

"It  is  well  that  you  have  come  into  a  realization  of  the  train 
of  evils  inevitable  to  this  gigantic  blunder,"  said  the  noble,  "for  our 
days  are  few.  Time  gallops  upon  us  and  it  is  with  our  own  ex- 
patriation that  we  must  concern  ourselves,  yours  that  of  the  brave 
men  who  have  engaged  in  this  misadventure  without  personal  ques- 
tion. Neither  can  think  out  the  exigent  course  without  including 
such  of  our  men  as  we  may  depend  upon." 

"There  is  already  unrest  among  them,"  admitted  the  Captain, 
gravely." 

Iskenden  Bey  reflected/' His  Royal  Effendi  celebrates  the 
breaking  of  the  Fast  of  Ramazan  tomorrow  and  has  bidden  such 
persons  of  importance  and  their  wives  as  he  desires  to  show  a  return 
of  courtesies.  Invitations  with  bottles  of  sherbet,  have  been  deliver- 
ed by  the  musidadjis.  I  am  here  with  Mahmoud  and  Raghib  os- 
tensibly for  the  purpose  of  ordering  the  feast  of  True  Believers. 
The  best  of  the  ship's  cooks  must  come  to  the  aid  of  Ibrahim,  and 
your  best  servers.  For  music,  send  Ismail,  Toussoom,  Achmed  and 
Osman.  Cousrouf  Effendi  desires  a  sumptuous  repast  and  the  rarest 
of  the  royal  wines  that  have  been  bottled  only  in  gold,  and  of  divers 

72 


vintage.     It  is  understood?     Now  let  us  go  further  into  our  own 
difficulties  that  lie  beyond  the  sybarite's  revel." 

"One  may  always  mask  his  ship  in  black  and  fly  the  pirate's 
flag",  said  Captain  Izzeddin  in  a  whisper.  "It  is  the  way  of  losing 
one's  identity  that  may  save  one's  head!  Truly,  one  must  fear  the 

long  arm  of  the   High  Sultan "    He  spat  fiercely.      "May 

Cousrouf,  son  of  Satan  be  accursed  and  Selim  continue  the  messen- 
ger of  Allah — whose  name  be  glorified!" 

VI. 

In  all  parts  of  Islamyeh  awakeners  rouse  the  haremlik  a  half- 
hour  before  dawn,  beating  little  drums,  singing  verses  and  bidding 
the  Faithful  to  take  their  last  meal  before  sunrise  for  the  Fast  of 
Ramazan.  This  is  an  annual  observance  and  strictly  kept  and  the 
conclusion  of  Ramazan  is  celebrated  by  the  Festival  of  the  Breaking 
of  the  Fast  which  lasts  three  days  in  which  no  work  is  done. 
Presents  are  sent  out  to  the  poor  and  to  all  in  employment  by  their 
masters. 

Cousrouf  Effendi  pursued  his  usual  plans  for  the  feast  inso- 
far as  the  limitations  of  his  environs  permitted,  distributing  gifts 
widely  and  beseeching  the  co-operation  of  the  town's  officials  as 
his  almoners. 

There  had  been  many  civilities  offered,  a  few  accepted,  and 
the  generous  prince  held  a  pious  desire  to  return  hospitalities  to 
his  consociates. 

With  the  orgy  of  rich,  mysterious  foods  and  sparkling  wines 
of  the  Djemiet  the  five  child-women  had  naught  to  do.  Indeed, 
throughout  the  brilliant  evening  they  crouched,  laughing  softly,  on 
the  third  floor  of  the  old  mansion,  in  the  dark  whence,  now  and  then, 
themselves  invisible,  they  dared  espial  of  bits  of  the  scene  below 
just  as  children  the  world  over  are  wont  to  do  when  their  elders 
receive  guests. 

The  little  women  did  not  suspect  that  they  were  being  slighted 
in  the  festivity,  rather  that  they  were  mercifully  safeguarded  against 
much  vulgarity,  boldish  foreign  women  and  curious  appraisal. 
They  loved  their  master  the  more  that  he  protected  their  peace  in 
immurement.  Eunuchs  brought  to  their  eyry  gold  platters,  begem- 
med, with  Turkish  sweets,  apotheosized  dates  and  exotic  wines, 

73 


and  the  maidens  played  and  nibbled  much  as  Caucasian  girls  do 
when  entertaining  at  tea. 

The  salons  were  thronged  by  many  of  the  town's  good  people, 
whatever  their  motives,  members  of  the  Ancient  French  families, 
grandees  representing  the  Escurial  to  whom  Louis  XV  had  ceded 
"the  continent"  of  Louisiana  in  1  762,  in  indemnity  of  the  expenses 
of  war:  Spanish  Donas,  titled  French  matrons  and  radiant  Creole 
belles  thrilling  to  the  new  experience,  flashed  sallies  at  the  Turkish 
officers,  even  daring  to  flirt  with  Cousrouf  himself!  It  was  a  titil- 
lating occasion  and  no  element  of  it  irritated  the  sensibilities  of  the 
most  fastidious.  Instead,  eyes  widened  at  the  unheard-of  luxury 
of  the  appointments  and  the  sumptuousness  of  the  entertainment. 
Members  of  the  Superior  Council  composed  of  the  Duke  of  Alba, 
Don  Jaime  Masones  de  Lima,  Don  Juan  Gregorio  Muniain,  Don 
Miguel  de  Muzquiz,  the  Count  of  Aranda,  the  Baron  Don  Julian 
de  Arriaga  and  the  Marquis  of  San  Juan  de  Piedras,  were  present 
in  full  regalia.  The  French  King's  Attorney-general  Nicolas 
Chauvin  de  Lafreniere;  Urissa,  Intendant  of  the  Colony  and 
hidalgos  such  as  the  Count  de  Fuentes,  the  Marquis  of  San  Juan 
de  Piedras  Albas  and  the  Marquis  of  Gramaldi.  There  were  also 
high-dignitaries  and  patricians  among  the  French;  the  Chevalier- 
lieutenant  De  La  Ronde,  Le  Breton,  late  guardsman  in  Louis' 
household  troops,  Foucault,  the  Intendant  Commissary,  Etienne  de 
Bore,  de  Boisblanc,  de  Lavillebeuvre,  Captain  Judice,  Andre 
Verret,  Aubry,  De  Noyau,  Villere. 

No  names  more  brilliant  shone  in  this  dependency  of  the 
Spanish  Crown. 

Knowing  no  other  method,  the  Turkish  routine  in  the  treatment 
of  a  distinguished  assemblage  was  punctiliously  pursued,  even  to 
the  passing  of  silver  basins  for  laving  of  hands  before  the  banquet. 
Attendants  in  native  Osman  dress  were  vividly  numerous  and  with 
gold  goblets  refreshed  the  convives  with  royal  wines.  Platters  of 
gold  offered  toothsome  viands  and  mystical  combinations;  there 
were  pilaf  of  wheat  instead  of  rice;  djadfy,  cheese  savored  thickly 
with  prickly  herbs  served  on  silver  sofras;  spiced  wine  of  pome- 
granite  ;loukmas,  a  favorite  Turkish  baignee;  sherbets  of  fruits, 
candy  and  spices,  delectably  composed;  cakes  and  delicacies  fol- 
lowed by  thick  coffee;  cigarettes  from  Anatolia  and  finally  the 
hochaf  tray  with  crystal  bowl  and  ivory  spoons.  The  Turkish 

74 


people  as  a  race  are  genially  hospitable  and  with  every  copious 
serving  each  guest  was  wished:  "Shifalu  olsun!"  (May  it  be  to 
your  health ! ) 

The  unfamilar,  wildly  sweet  music  of  the  ship's  players 
charmed  away  the  night,  leaving  only  one  flaw  in  the  memory  of 
the  curious  who  would  have  pierced  the  veils  of  retiracy  and  re- 
vealed the  beauties  reputed  to  be  without  number  in  the  haremlik 
of  Cousrouf  Effendi.  Useless  the  spying  and  adroit  attempts  to 
discover  a  glimpse  of  these  holy-of-holies.  The  kingly  host  was 
towardly,  incomparably  thoughtful,  but  it  was  beyond  reason  to 
attempt  familiarities  in  intercourse  with  him.  His  handsome  turban- 
ed  head,  distinguished  from  all  others,  his  noble  bearing  differen- 
tiating him  though  he  had  worn  no  uniform  and  decorations,  the 
grace  of  his  tophaike  swung  over  his  shoulder,  made  of  him  a  being 
to  admire,  revere  and  to  set  apart.  With  him  there  was  no  witty 
jest  possible,  nor  amorous  reference.  His  hostship  was  impeccable 
and  none  dared  to  trip  before  his  certain  rebuff. 

VII. 

When  the  last  guest  had  been  sped  with  recommendations  to 
the  Paradises  of  Mohammed,  Cousrouf  doffed  his  mask  of  facile 
chivalry  and  sought  the  repose  needed  to  tranquillize  a  brain  teem- 
ing with  ruminations.  He  threw  himself  upon  his  rahat  lataJf  or 
couch  of  ease,  tufted  with  the  heavy  carpets  of  Bokhara,  a  Shiraz,  a 
Konia  and  thickly-woven  camel's  hair  cloth.  There  was  the  rumor 
of  bells  in  the  quiet,  perhaps  the  tinkling  of  talismans  of  his  maidens 
stirred  at  the  release  from  their  joyous  prison  above. 

How  incomplete  had  been  this  djemiet  far  from  the  home  of 
True  Believers,  the  faithful  of  Mohammed — on  whom  be  peace! 
Where  the  maps  and  cressets,  the  splashes  of  blue  and  red  fires, 
the  gay  caiques  darting  over  the  waters  of  the  Bosphorus,  the  scin- 
tillations of  Stamboul,  coruscant  with  tiny  oil  lamps  around  the 
portals  and  windows  of  houses,  festooned  from  minaret  to  minaret 
or  hung  in  triple  coronals  around  their  pinnacles?  Their  glow  even 
now  thrilled  him  and  he  fairly  saw  the  lambent  blue  flames  inter- 
spersed with  showers  of  pyrotechnic  gold  which  makes  of  the  break- 
ing of  the  Fast  of  Ramazan  the  spiritual  joy  of  the  year,  justifying 
all  other  indulgences. 

75 


Over  the  cobble-stones  rumbled  an  early  milk-cart  in  mockery 
of  his  Levantine  revery.  He  who  had  shone  at  tthe  surrender  of  the 
Acropolis,  whose  sword  was  strongest  of  stroke  in  the  Greek  Revo- 
lutions and  the  uprisings  of  the  lawless,  tyrannical  Mamelukes,  how 
could  he  continue  to  face  maddening  latency,  supine  indulgences, 
far  from  his  army?  He  knew  his  brother,  Sehm  III  to  be  inefficient, 
unequal  to  the  quelling  of  vice-regal  revolts  that  Beys  and 
Agas  provoked,  though  masterful  in  reforms.  The  powerful  and 
crafty  Iconian,  Mehemet  Ali,  Pasha  of  Three  Tails  and  Vizier  of 
Egypt,  was  lawlessly  arrogant  toward  his  master  the  Sultan  while 
professing  loyalty  to  the  Porte  and  in  covenant  with  it — a  nominal 
vassal  but  most  dangerous  foe.  Selim  had  used  his  influence  with 
his  Divan  in  reorganizing  the  military  and  political  systems  of  the 
Empire,  reforms  in  which  he  progressed  notwithstanding  the  inimical 
attitude  of  the  body  of  the  Ulema;  ridding  the  army  of  the  old 
janissaries  of  the  Barbary  States  who  were  cankers  as  irritants  in 
their  withdrawn  allegiance.  He,  Cousrouf,  knew  better  than  his 
brother  the  formidable  leader  of  the  janissaries,  Osman  Pasvan 
Oglu  and  his  caitiff  appeal  in  crafty  counsels  and  he  flushed 
with  shame  that  his  own  faculty  to  countervail,  give  understanding 
and  force  to  his  country's  problems,  was  not  at  this  crisis  at  the  service 
of  the  House  of  Othman.  More  insistent  grew  the  realization  of 
his  own  treachery  in  solitude  as  his  ambition  soared  back  to  the 
Black  and  Baltic  Seas  and  in  memory  engaged  in  Slavic  combat. 

A  tender  chime  of  amulets  broke  into  his  melancholy  and  by 
the  gleam  of  a  ruby  lamp  Butheita,  his  fairest  fondling,  smiled  with 
soft  daring. 

"Salaam  Aleifyum!"    (Peace  be  with  you!)    she  whispered. 

"Khosh  gueldiniz  !"  (On  thee  be  peace!")  answered  the 
courtly  lover,  and  forgot  his  pain  and  all  else  save  his  Bedouin  spoil. 

The  maid  sank  upon  the  silken  shalvar  spread  before  the 
couch,  the  studs  of  gold  bordering  her  veil  rapping  lightly  against 
the  polished  floor. 

"It  was  not  Butheita  who  wounded  the  repose  of  my  lord  with 
fena  guz  and  holy  amulets  and  nazar,  in  prevention  of  the  Evil  Eye. 
No,  Effendi,  the  chime  was  of  the  Ev-Sahibi,  the  good  Djinns  who 
are  masters  of  the  house.  Surely  the  Christian  maids  and  the  sahib 
who  lived  here  were  not  so  happy  as  we  for  they  had  only  their 

Christian  saints is  not  our  master  favored  in  the  protection 

76 


of  a  special  Djinn  appointed  by  Allah  to  wait  upon  him?  I  would 
tell  thee,  Effendi,  that  your  Butheita  has  been  given  the  blessing  of 
sight  by  our  good  Djinns "the  girl  lowered  her  voice  reverent- 
ly for  who  could  tell  when  spirits  are  near?  "Yea,  I  have  seen 
them  flitting  happily  and  busily  about  the  dwelling,  clothed  in 
bridal  vestitures,  edged  with  tiny  silver  bells.  This  is  the  tinkling 
melody  one  hears  which  announces  their  passage  through  the  house. 
Thus  have  I  seen  them,  Effendi,  by  their  so-great  favor." 

"Happy  those  who  believe",  murmured  Cousrouf,  enchanted 
by  the  deep  music  of  the  maiden's  Arabic. 

"Ah,  but  you  believe,  Effendi, — say  that  you  believe. 
Butheita  could  not  lie.  Every  hour  we  have  proof;  for  like  most 
Supernals,  the  Djinns  may  assume  any  form  they  desire  and  they 
take  possession  of  our  copper  utensils  mischievously  to  confound  the 
cook;  of  scimetars,  tray-stands,  pitchers,  braziers,  stools  and  even 
brooms!  Is  it  not  wonderful  to  know  such  perfect  fellowship  with 
condign  spirits?  We  know  not  the  Djinns  of  Evil  who  follow  Eblis 
but  even  the  good  Djinns  and  Pens  who  serve  Allah  are  whimsical 
with  pranks  and  make  intolerable  noises  at  times.  Wilt  thou  believe 
it  was  they  who  titillated  the  air,  not  the  talismans  and  charms  of 
talleh  (destiny)  of  thy  bride?" 

Vanished  were  the  aspirations  of  the  man's  patriotism  and  per- 
sonal ambition,  dissolved  in  the  lure  of  a  tent-maiden's  tones. 
Cousrouf  turned  his  eyes  full  upon  her,  removing  the  bish  of  blue 
satin  overfolding  her  gauze  chemise  and  silken  trousers  and  the 
chlmber  or  coif  of  variegated  gossamer  which  crowned  her  sleek 
black  hair.  He  held  her  by  the  large  clasps  of  jeweled  gold  con- 
fining her  waist  where  clung  flowers  simulated  of  tinted  crepes, 
perfumed  with  acacia. 

"Mashallah!  but  thou  art  fair!"  exclaimed  Cousrouf,  rising 
upon  his  couch  of  ease;  'Thou  art  indeed  like  a  full  moon,  my 
symbol  of  joy,  my  rose.  Thou  art  of  elegance  like  the  cypress  yet 
have  I  plundered  thee  of  thy  setting  in  the  gardens  of  Mohammed, 
among  the  lime  and  plane,  the  pomegranate,  the  ilanthus  and  mul- 
berry, to  cast  thee  down  among  Khafirs — infidels  whom  may  Allah 
confound  at  the  last  day!" 

A  sob  broke  from  the  kneeling  child,  his  sympathy  momentarily 
compelling  weakness  in  acute  memory.  Bending,  she  kissed  the 

77 


feet  of  Cousrouf  and  with  lowered  head  strove  to  recover  her  selfish 
outburst  in  soothing. 

"Ay,  now  if  thou  art  oppressed  with  sorrow  thou  mayest  not 
seek  consolation  at  the  graves  of  Holy  Men.  But  have  we  not 
our  nazar  and  engraved  stones  brought  from  the  holy  cities 
of  Mekka,  Medina  and  Damascus,  or  from  the  tombs  of  Hadji 
Bektash  and  Hadji  Bairam?  Courage,  my  lord.  Thou  are  fever- 
ish. I  will  prepare  thee  a  tisane  of  maiden-hair  fern  whilst  thou 
makest  invocation  to  the  Prophet  or  the  Khalif  AH,  on  whom  be 
peace!" 

Cousrouf  clutched  a  scarf  as  she  rose,  bringing  her  down  to  his 
couch.  He  addressed  her  solemnly,  holding  her  as  in  a  vise. 

"My  God  is  Allah;  my  Prophet  Mohammed;  my  religion 
Islam  and  my  love  is  Butheita!"  he  swore  by  the  Hadith  or  Tra- 
ditional Sayings  of  Mohammed,  and  spat  to  give  emphasis  to  his 
oath. 

A  tear  fell  upon  his  swart  hand  and  the  maiden  strove  to 
rise  again. 

"I  have  prepared  a  comforting  passage  from  the  Koran  and  it  is 
here,  my  lord,  soaked  in  this  vessel  containing  water  of  the  Jordan. 
Drink  of  it,  Planet-of-my-heaven,  and  wear  another  device,  this 
nushfya,  an  amulet  against  evil." 

"What  hast  thou  written  from  Koran,  gazelle?"  asked 
Cousrouf,  moved  by  her  earnestness  and  by  the  omens  thick  in  their 
thoughts. 

The  girl  read : 

"Sory,  /  fly  for  refuge  unto  the  Lord  of  the  Daybreak, 
that  he  may  deliver  me  from  the  mischief  of  those  things 
which  he  hath  created  and  from  the  mischief  of  the  night 
when  it  cometh  on,  and  from  the  mischief  of  Women  blow- 
ing on  knots  and  from  the  mischief  of  the  envious  when  he 
envieth." 

Cousrouf  shrank  with  the  prescience  of  impending  evil  and 
sought  comfort  in  the  maiden's  luscious  mouth,  releasing  her  to  in- 
spire her  depression. 

"Allah  has  inscribed  on  the  brow  of  every  human  being,  in 
invisible  characters,  his  decree  of  death",  he  said  softly.  "Allah 
is  wise  to  withhold  interpretation  of  these  Signs  from  us.  May  the 
Cup-bearer  of  the  Sphere  long  pass  thee  by,  and  overlook  Cousrouf, 

78 


too,  that  we  may  long  love  and  long  praise,  Allah.  O  my  bride, 
until  thou  earnest  to  slake  my  thirst,  life  was  but  warfare  and  a 
weary  Fast  of  Ramazan.  To  meet  was  Kismet  and  now  I  would 
place  thee  to  ensure  thee  in  a  high  tower  of  pearl  amid  ivory  palaces 
that  could  not  reflect  the  clamors  of  the  world.  I  would  hold  thee 
by  chains  of  gold  and  a  moat  all  about  and  I  would  compass  deep 
channels  if  but  thy  lips  of  rubies  shone  over  the  dark  waters." 

Horses  slid  over  the  cobblestones  before  the  house,  regained 
control  under  the  lash  and  command  of  their  driver,  dashing  out  to 
the  ramparts.  Others  followed,  bearing  fiery  contenders  to  the 
dueling-ground  beyond  the  city  and  the  Bayou,  whether  in  the 
cause  of  love  or  revenge,  a  concrete  drama  awaiting  its  imminent 
last  curtain. 

"Put  me  not  away  if  thou  share  not  my  banishment",  cried 
Butheita.  'Else  must  I  seek  the  holy  society  of  female  dervishes 
and  know  the  world  no  more.  And  shouldest  thou  die  my  spirit 
would  visit  thee  with  our  Moslem  angels,  Mounkir  and  Nekir  when 
they  enter  thy  grave  to  question  thee  concerning  thy  faith.  Oh, 
great  is  my  love  for  thee,  Cousrouf  Effendi!" 

The  man  rose  and  bending  kissed  the  girl's  knees,  then  drew 
from  his  lips  sugar  which  he  had  taken  from  a  golden  cup,  convey- 
ing it  to  hers  to  symbolize  the  harmony  which  should  ever  exist 
between  them. 

"Thy  love  is  no  secret  to  Cousrouf,"  he  murmured,  "for  thou 
hast  made  joy  of  thy  present  exile  and  heartened  the  breast  that 
would  have  ceased  to  breathe  but  for  thee.  At  the  hour  of  the 
fifth  namaz  thou  hast  no  Imam  to  recite  thee  prayers,  O  Moon, 
yet  art  thou  by  deeds  most  faithful  in  Islamisme.  Cousrouf  has  no 
aspirations  beyond  the  confines  of  the  garden  of  which  thy  heart 
is  the  sun."  He  moved  to  a  kind  of  low  table  of  walnut-wood  in- 
laid with  mother-of-pearl  and  silver,  plunging  his  fingers  into  a 
crystal  bowl,  the  rite  of  ablest,  or  ablution,  before  prayer.  Throw- 
ing the  maiden's  scarf  down  for  a  prayer-rug  he  knelt  upon  it — 
he,  Cousrouf,  the  brother  of  the  High-Sultan,  thus  lowering  his 
estate  and  glorying  in  his  blasphemy. 

"Cur  stars  have  met  and  rejoiced,  Vineyard  of  my  life-sap, 
Wine-press  of  new  wine!  Thy  presence  exalts  this  strange  city  of 
mutual  exile,  and  I  wear  no  lilac  for  a  world  dead  henceforth  to  me. 
Without  thee  my  heart  would  cease  beating  with  yearning  for  the 

79 


stroke  of  the  sword  and  the  outdoor  incenses  of  aloes,  of  cedar,  of 
myrrh  and  cinnamon.  Where  now  is  my  spirit  of  adventure,  my 
passion  for  the  fight,  my  lealty  to  Osmanli?  Thou  hast  dulled  my 
sword  and  cast  my  glory  in  fragments.  Camest  thou  from  thy 
father's  tent  to  wreak  this  miracle?  O  Lamp  of  my  feet,  I  joy  in  thee 
as  in  an  incessant  well.  Change  not  to  a  subtile  guilt,  my  Simoon  of 
the  desert,  whose  beauty  blinds  me  as  smoke  to  the  eyes.  Thy 
purity  pricks  my  tenderness  to  tears.  Chide  me  never  that  the 
thought  of  your  submission  to  the  High-Sultan  terrified  my  soul 
which  had  never  before  known  fear.  Only  for  me  were  you 
wrought,  by  me  you  were  made  booty  of  a  raid.  Why  are  we  to- 
night amid  aliens  and  strange  tongues?  Thou  art  the  origin  of  this 
mad  flight,  thou  and  the  sweet  sharers  above  whom,  too,  we  love." 

A  subtle  note,  weird  like  a  cicada's  struck  the  dark  outer 
night. 

"What  is  that?"  whispered  the  desert-girl,  shuddering  and 
seizing  her  master's  hands. 

The  sharp  note  came  again.  The  girl  leaned  forward,  fixed 
with  fear.  "It  is  the  trained  call  of  some  mocking-bird",  reassured 
Cousrouf,  though  he  listened  again  and  held  his  peace. 

All  was  silent  and  presently  the  susurrance  of  tiny,  distant 
bells  returned  their  uneasy  thoughts  to  the  comfort  of  the  interior. 

"What  is  there  to  fear,  O  Ruby,  since  we  are  together  and 
even  Death  offers  only  release  for  more  indicible  loving?  Thou 
art  so  strange  to  me,  even  now ;  so  unlike  these  clamorous  women  of 
Spain  and  France.  O  Nightingale,  what  is  written  on  the  parch- 
ment of  thy  heart Cousrouf?  Lovest  thou  even  thy  captivity, 

O  Fawn?  Is  my  Doe  weaned  from  her  desert-tents?  Answer  not. 
Thy  denials  would  be  the  piercings  of  the  broken  blade  and  of  the 
shield  cast  aside,  nor  could  I  bear  thy  feigned  lips.  Once  thy  cold- 
ness did  afflict  me  but  now  thy  rebuke  would  leave  me  desolate." 

The  maiden  heard  every  word,  but  still  she  leaned,  taut  with 
an  unformed  dread,  listening,  too,  for  the  retreating  peal  of  faraway 
silver  melodies  from  tiny  bells. 

"Heed  naught  save  the  holiness  of  our  night!"  the  man  cried, 
shaking  her  gently.  "We  are  alone,  there  is  none  other  save  thy 
good  Djinns;  dost  thou  not  hear  their  tiny  chimes?  See!  I  have  no 
thought  save  of  thee.  Thy  love  would  make  fountains  to  leap  in 
the  desert.  With  my  breath  would  I  weave  the  night-winds  that 


brush  thy  hair.  Butheita!  Cousrouf  desires  thee!  Thy  body  has 
the  fragrance  of  grapes.  Beneath  thine  eyes  are  the  stains  of 
purple  grapes  and  thy  lips  are  fruits  of  sweet  juices.  Before  we 

make  covenant  before  Allah let  us  pause  to  dwell  upon  the 

delights  that  await  us  in  the  abodes  of  the  Paradises!" 

VIII. 

At  dawn  the  rue  Orleans  began  to  show  signs  of  waking-up. 
Servants  were  sweeping  banquettes  in  preparation  for  the  pious 
mistresses  who  would  be  faring  forth  to  early  Mass.  No  servitor 
appeared  before  the  white  mansion  at  the  corner  of  the  rue 
Dauphine.  Amena'ide,  the  stalwart  negress  who  was  the  neighbor- 
hood bulletin,  wondered  why. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  a  two-wheeled  milk-cart  stopped 
and  jangled  a  dinner-bell  of  goodly  dimensions  before  the  gate  of 
the  great  house.  Again  he  rang,  and  again.  Where  were  Ismail 
and  Toussoom,  Achmet  and  Amurath,  that  the  summons  was  dis- 
obeyed? The  Gascon  jumped  off  his  cart  and  tried  the  gate- 
bell.  It  reverberated  plaintively  and  the  fastening  resisted.  He 
shrugged  and  climbed  back  upon  his  high  standing-perch.  Later 
other  tradesmen  came  for  their  commerce  with  the  rear  gate.  About 
noon  a  lady  remarked  that  she  had  watched  the  house  between  her 
persiennes  all  morning  and  that  there  were  as  yet  no  indications  of 
activity  within.  True,  there  had  been  a  great  affair  last  night  and 
carriages  had  rolled  away  as  late  as  four  o'clock.  Even  those 
strange  dark  people  must  sleep  sometime. 

The  sun  was  shifting  toward  the  westward  rim  when  real  con- 
cern caused  action  and  the  authorities  from  the  Cabildo  attempted 
to  gain  entrance  to  the  mansion.  It  was  like  a  barracks,  with  few 
openings  and  the  main-portal  resisted  the  well-intentioned  efforts. 
The  door  finally  gave  way  with  a  crash,  admitting  an  alcalde  and 
his  police. 

At  the  threshold  of  the  salons  they  halted  and  gasped;  for, 
his  death-stretcher  the  couch  of  ease,  with  gashed  throat,  his  beauti- 
ful head  almost  servered  and  weltering  in  his  blood,  was  the  brother 
of  the  Sultan.  About  him  in  tragic  poses  lay  the  five  child-women 
of  the  royal  seraglio,  dead. 

Some  men  believe  themselves  willing  to  die  for  the  love  of  one 

81 


woman.     How  more  glorious  a  death  to  die  for  love  of  five! 

A  watchman  on  the  lookout  for  slaves  evading  the  curfew- 
cannon  in  Congo  Square,  remembered  having  heard  music;  no,  not 
the  orchestra  of  the  evening  but  the  shrill  bagpipe  to  which  he  had 
sometimes  heard  a  woman's  voice  singing  in  a  strange  tongue;  and 
in  the  middle  of  a  cadence  the  voice  seemed  stifled  and  a  man  had 
called.  Perhaps  the  words  were;  "Allah's  blessings  upon  Butheita!" 
for  assuredly  his  last  breath  gave  benison  to  the  best-beloved  of  the 
brother  of  the  Sultan. 

The  alcalde  and  his  men  sickened  at  the  ghastly  spectacle  of 
blood-dyed  embroideries  and  discarded  veils  that  revealed  the 
choicest  beauty  of  the  royal  haremlik,  so  tenderly  young!  A  tiny 
red  velvet  shoe  lay  near  the  alcalde's  foot.  The  air  was  heavy 
with  the  scent  of  the  blood  and  of  broken  phials  of  attared  roses. 

The  alcalde  and  his  followers  dashed  to  the  levee  to  advise 
the  officials  of  the  Turkish  ship  of  the  calamity,  and  lo!  the 
dabahieh  no  longer  swung  by  its  hawsers  at  anchor  before  the  town ! 
The  citizens  massed  on  the  levee  and  marveled.  Steamboat  mates 
stood  with  flails  inert  while  roustabouts  idled  unchidden. 

The  Latin  tongue  is  inflammable  and  catches  the  spark  from 
one  to  another.  The  awesome  tidings  spread,  the  crowd  of  gapers, 
practically  all  of  the  town's  five  thousand,  congregated.  The  ship 
had  vanished  under  cover  of  night  without  port  authority.  It  was 
said  there  had  been  assassinations  ....  was  there  connection  be- 
tween the  mystery  of  the  white  mansion  and  the  eclipse  of  the 
merchantman  ? 

It  was  the  day  of  buccaneers — a  fashionable  form  of  piracy 
which  appealed  to  the  mighty  of  daring  taste — and  it  was  rumored 
in  the  Cafe  des  Exiles  where  Lafittte's  doughtiest  later  met  over 
their  strong  wine,  that  the  Turkish  craft  had  been  converted  into  a 
free-ship,  piratical  of  intention;  that  a  Turk  with  a  rum-poisoned 
tongue  had  hinted  at  the  violation  of  the  sanctity  of  the  royal  harem 
and  the  intended  disposal  by  the  crew  of  the  costly  evidence.  Later 
in  the  year  Dominique  You  noted  the  same  ship-outline  upon  the 
main  but  it  had  lost  its  Sultan's  standard.  Despite  all  clues  never 
has  there  been  revealed  the  whereabouts  of  the  Turkish  merchant- 
man which  so  illy  requited  port  civilities  by  sinking  into  oblivion  as 
surely  as  if  her  hull  had  nursed  the  river-bottom. 

Strange  sounds  are  heard  nightly  in  the  old  Le  Pretre  man- 

82 


sion,  nor  can  any  but  strong  nerves  and  pious  hearts  endure  the 
strain  of  residence  therein.  The  imprint  of  a  tiny  shoe  had  been 
ineradicably  stained  in  the  floor  and  girlish  laughter  would  ring 
from  the  third  etage  at  times,  the  thud  of  a  tambour,  followed  by 
the  piping  of  the  zammarah  bisoan  suggestive  of  flutes  and  bulbuls 
among  tents  and  palms  of  the  desert.  Then  there  is  a  strain  of 
song  reported,  a  man's  pleading  and  abrupt  silence  followed  by 
poignant  groans. 

High-strung,  imaginative  folk  cannot  abide  in  such  ghostly 
quarters,  so  the  old  house,  decrepid,  its  glory  gone,  has  sunk  to  the 
harboring  of  workaday  phlegmatics  who  are  too  sleep-sodden  to 
heed  the  nightly-enacted  tragedy.  Holy  water  has  proved  in- 
effective in  laying  the  little  veiled  figures  which  evanesce  through 
corridors  and  up  stairways,  moaning  in  flight:  for  how  may  Christ- 
blessed  dews  expunge  the  sins  of  Moslems?  Some  believe  that 
through  the  ages  till  it  fall  must  the  house  be  disquieted  through 
long  nights  to  those  acute  enough  to  hear  the  carilloneuring  of  faint 
silver  bells  and  the  velvet-shod  tread  of  the  maidens  of  the  Nile  and 
Istamboul,  of  Alexandria  and  Aboukir,  and  fairest  of  all,  the  spoil 
of  battle,  wild  and  sense-maddening  Butheita  of  Bedouin  birth 
whose  death  proved  complete  surrender  to  her  love,  at  the  very  feet 
of  the  Brother  of  the  Sultan! 

THE  END. 


